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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015490">the reality of it</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMarie/pseuds/MermaidMarie'>MermaidMarie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magicians (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Multi, Post-Episode: s04e13 No Better To Be Safe Than Sorry, sometimes people are just Not Dead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:54:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24015490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMarie/pseuds/MermaidMarie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Margo is trying to move forward, Julia is trying to fix things, and Eliot is just trying not to drown. And then Eliot meets a very familiar man at a party.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eliot Waugh &amp; Julia Wicker, Margo Hanson &amp; Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, William "Penny" Adiyodi &amp; Margo Hanson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>222</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. the time we spend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'd like to thank my lovely friends, for blatantly not stopping me when I told them to. Full disclosure that I only sort of know what I'm doing here, as you may have guessed from the vague summary and tag, but here we are. <br/>I didn't watch any of season 5. Also, for the purposes of this fic: Fillory is inaccessible, Julia got to choose her own fate, and Alice and Quentin never got back together. I'm just making those decisions.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the Monster, after the Seam, after everything, there was a lot they weren’t sure how to grapple with anymore. Sure, the threats were gone. Magic was back to normal again, the Library’s hold on it broken. Eliot was back and healing. The world was, as much as it ever was, safe again. They’d won.</p><p>Winning never did come without a cost, did it?</p><p>Margo wanted to stay at Brakebills—at first, anyway. She thought if they could just get back into the rhythm of school and the parties, it might feel okay after a while. Well. She didn’t know what she thought would happen, exactly. Brakebills was too full of memories in the end. They lasted less than a week there before they left again.</p><p>She and 23 had been talking more, trying to find ways to work through everything that had gone down. The first few weeks, Eliot and Julia were nearly impossible to talk to. Staying at Kady’s apartment, they were half-catatonic with grief.</p><p>Margo was grieving, too, but she could hardly focus on her own hurt with Eliot and Julia in the room. Alice and Kady were basically absent. The portals to Fillory were broken—they’d managed to get through once, long enough to find out that Josh and Fen were long dead, before they’d been locked out of the place by whatever new magical forces ran it after the Library lost control.</p><p>It had been several weeks now. They were still at Kady’s, trapped in what felt like the same day over and over again. Time just melted together. Margo felt like she was losing her mind.</p><p>She and Penny were out on the balcony, early one morning, while Eliot and Julia were still presumably asleep inside. She was getting better about not hovering over Eliot, but it was hard not to. He hadn’t been back all that long, and sometimes, he looked hollow, like the Monster might have taken everything out of him.</p><p>Or maybe he was hollow because…</p><p>Well. Because the <em>other </em>thing had taken everything out of him.</p><p>Margo leaned back in her chair on the balcony, looking out at the city. She sighed, frustrated, tapping a fingernail against the wineglass. She was feeling trapped in this place. They couldn’t stay here forever, and she didn’t know if Eliot and Julia understood that.</p><p>“It’s just all fucked,” 23 said, which pretty accurately summed it all up.</p><p>Margo hummed in agreement as she took another long sip of red wine.</p><p>“Have you managed to get anything out of Julia?” she asked.</p><p>Penny shook his head. “Sometimes it seems like she’s barely <em>there. </em>I think she’s regretting the choice she made.”</p><p>Privately, Margo was regretting the choice Julia had made, too. Hindsight being what it was, she was sure Julia would’ve decided to become a goddess rather than stay human. If she just had her goddess powers, she could bring Q back and things would be okay again. But she could barely do magic at all now, having to start from scratch.</p><p>There were a lot of choices made along the way that could’ve made the difference, but there was hardly a reason to dwell on them now. Or, at least, Margo told herself that, because she didn’t want to think about the last few conversations she’d had with Quentin.</p><p>Things she could’ve said. Things she thought she’d get the chance to say.</p><p>“It is what it is,” Margo said, her voice a little harsher than she meant for it to be.</p><p>Whatever. This was Penny. They hadn’t had the luxury of tact with each other lately. As weird as it was, he sort of felt like all she had these days.</p><p>“Yeah,” Penny agreed. “Gotten anything out of Eliot?”</p><p>Margo stared into the deep red of her wine, feeling a clutch in her chest. It was hard, it was all <em>so hard, </em>and she was barely holding it together. She’d finally gotten Eliot back, and she’d had a <em>minute </em>to celebrate that before losing her other best friend. And she couldn’t even deal with <em>that, </em>because Eliot was in pieces.</p><p>“He hasn’t said a damn thing to me,” Margo said.</p><p>“Can’t believe they had to wake up into <em>this,” </em>23 muttered, running an agitated hand over his hair.</p><p>“Can’t believe we had to, too,” Margo added, shooting Penny a bitter smile.</p><p>“I’ll drink to that.” He leaned over to tap his beer against her glass.</p><p>It was the reality of the situation. Josh dead, Fen dead, Fillory gone. Quentin dead. Kady and Alice missing in action. Eliot and Julia grieving so loud you couldn’t hear yourself think. And Margo and Penny 23, drinking in the early hours of the morning, friends out of necessity.</p><p>The sun was just beginning to rise. What a world, right?</p><p> </p><p>Eliot had been lying on his bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling, for what felt like hours. Every time he woke up, it just felt worse again. Because he just kept waking up into the same reality, and the reality was this: the world had ended.</p><p>Or. It might as well have.</p><p>Yeah, whatever, they’d won. They’d saved the world again, and they’d lost more than Eliot would’ve given up for it.</p><p>He pulled himself up, leaning back against the wall, and checked the time. Five twenty-two in the morning. Naturally. He hadn’t really had any regular sleeping pattern to speak of as of late. He just slept whenever he managed to.</p><p>He’d dreamt of the happy place again, that surreal version of the Cottage, where memories drifted in and out and time never felt right. Sometimes, those dreams felt more real than his waking life. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.</p><p>It didn’t matter—Quentin was never even in his dreams.</p><p>He got up and tossed on some clothes, not particularly caring what, and crept quietly out of his room. There had been three people sleeping in the apartment every night: Margo, Julia, and him. Penny 23 was usually around, but where he slept was anyone’s guess.</p><p>Kady and Alice just weren’t around. Something about the Library. Eliot couldn’t have cared less if he tried.</p><p>He heard soft voices drifting in from the balcony—Margo and 23.</p><p>He didn’t really want to talk to them right now. They had some whole thing going, trying to get things to be okay, but they didn’t get that this wasn’t going to be fixed. And Eliot could barely handle the way they talked about what to do next—like <em>next </em>really mattered.</p><p>So he tiptoed to Julia’s room, tapping lightly on the door.</p><p>Julia slept in roughly the same way he did, so there was always a fifty-fifty chance of finding her awake.</p><p>The door opened, Julia standing silently to the side to let him in.</p><p>Eliot just sunk to the floor by her desk, stretching his legs out and leaning against the wall. Julia closed the door and joined him.</p><p>“Couldn’t sleep?” she said.</p><p>“Oh, no, I slept great. Just woke up bright and early is all.” He shot her a tired smile. “Ready to start the day.”</p><p>“I haven’t slept,” she said. She gestured to the stack of books on her desk. “Still just… researching.”</p><p>“Find anything?” he asked.</p><p>She sighed. “Nothing that wouldn’t take, like, years.”</p><p>“Mm.” He admired her drive. He tried to help her with the research sometimes, but it always ended the same way. With him feeling more frustrated and empty and hopeless than before.</p><p>She was trying to find a way to save Quentin. What else?</p><p>Eliot wanted to believe it was possible. More than that, though, he just wanted to travel back in time, to before he’d gotten possessed, before the key quest had ended. To that day in the throne room. Where he’d ruined everything.</p><p>There was so much he still wanted to say, and what could he do with that?</p><p>“This sucks,” Julia said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “I can barely do party-trick magic, and I’m trying to, like…”</p><p>“Yeah,” Eliot agreed.</p><p>“Just. What are we supposed to do now?” Julia asked, her voice small.</p><p>And Eliot didn’t know where to start.</p><p> </p><p>It was another two weeks before Margo had enough of that place. Kady’s apartment was like purgatory, and it was full of memories and ghosts and she couldn’t stand the air in it. She and 23 found apartments on the same block and dragged Julia and Eliot to them before they could argue.</p><p>At the very least, they could have places that were their own, and that felt like a step forward. Eliot didn’t seem to have a strong opinion one way or the other, and Julia was so wrapped up in her obsessive research that she would’ve barely noticed if they left New York completely.</p><p>And Margo and Penny were still able to chill on balconies with drinks and updates and complaints.</p><p>
  <em>“He’s not okay,” Margo said one night, quiet and hopeless. “He’s just not okay, and I don’t know what to do.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What did you do before this?” Penny asked. </em>
</p><p>Which was how Margo ended up finding a party one night, some place nearby, half magicians and half muggles. It was a bar that had been basically rented out for someone’s birthday, though most of the guests seemed to have no connection to whoever was throwing the party.</p><p>Kind of the perfect place for some anonymous, mindless partying. Just something to get their minds off of everything else.</p><p>It was worth a shot, at least. Margo thought it was worth a shot.</p><p> </p><p>The party was loud.</p><p>Which was hardly a shocking statement—Eliot was used to loud parties. He even liked them. Or he used to, before he found himself wanting to be alone more often than not. Before he found himself shying away from anything that seemed like it would distract him.</p><p>Eliot could admit he hadn’t been himself. So Margo dragging him out, insisting that they needed to find a way to have fun again? Well, it was a fair enough point, he could imagine.</p><p>He had an empty glass in his hand, a fuzzy feeling behind his eyes. Margo was chatting up some girl by a pool table and Eliot had been drifting around, barely registering any mindless conversations he’d had. Voices and music blended together.</p><p>Until.</p><p>He only caught a glance at first, so he was sure it had to be his imagination. It was a big party, after all, in a strange place—a trick of the light, some illusion of an apparition. It hurt, but it wasn’t real. He tried to brush it off, keep going with the night, make a sincere attempt to have some semblance of fun for Margo’s sake.</p><p>But then.</p><p>He caught another glance.</p><p>It was a man over by the bar, laughing loudly and openly as he spoke to the bartender. And Eliot... Eliot recognized him.</p><p>But it couldn't be. After all this time, it just <em>couldn't</em> be.</p><p>
  <em>Quentin. </em>
</p><p>No.</p><p>Elio found himself drifting over, unable to stop himself from getting pulled in by the gravity of it. He could barely catch his breath. He needed—</p><p>As he approached, the man met his eyes and smiled, wide and careless, in a way he didn't quite recognize. A smile he somehow had never seen before, despite it being Quentin’s lips.</p><p>"Quentin?" he tried, his voice cracking a little.</p><p>"Who's Quentin?" the man said, tilting his head.</p><p>"I—" Eliot's heart sank, but he <em>knew</em> who he saw. He knew those eyes, even if he didn't recognize the wild brightness of them. Even if that smile wasn’t—</p><p>"Sorry, man, you must have me mixed up with someone else," the man said. He leaned forward with a flirtatious smirk. "Not that I’m complaining or anything, though."</p><p>Eliot's mind was spinning. He couldn't process any of this.</p><p>This was Quentin. But it wasn't.</p><p>“I’m Eliot,” he said, putting out a hand, swallowing the emotions that were threatening to drown him.</p><p>“Sebastian,” the man said, shaking his hand, letting his fingers linger on Eliot’s wrists, sending sparks straight through Eliot’s heart.</p><p>What.</p><p>The.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. things we know to be true</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is all I wanna write right now, I guess. I'm having fun.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the next morning when Eliot managed to collect himself enough to talk to Margo about what had happened.</p>
<p>He’d spent a little longer with <em>Sebastian, </em>before he’d gotten a number on a napkin, a wink and a <em>call me sometime, </em>and then lost the man in the crowd. He’d spent the rest of the night detached and shell-shocked before Margo brought him home, maybe thinking he’d just had some bad ecstasy or something.</p>
<p>He’d barely had one drink, but it felt like he had the worst hangover of his life that next day, a piercing, impossible pain splitting his head open.</p>
<p>He stumbled out of his room to the kitchen at around 11 am, his fingers pressed to his temples. He’d managed to get dressed and put himself together, at least, so he didn’t feel quite as much like a train wreck.</p>
<p>“Coffee?” Margo offered as he entered.</p>
<p>“Please,” he replied, relaxing into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, putting his face in his hands.</p>
<p>“Maybe some aspirin, too?” Margo added.</p>
<p>“Couldn’t hurt,” Eliot said.</p>
<p>She made his coffee and brought it over, then went to grab him a glass of water and the painkillers. They sat in silence for a little while and Eliot’s headache faded. He tapped his thumb against the mug, trying to figure out how to tell her. Trying to figure out what, exactly, to tell her, too.</p>
<p>“I didn’t see you drink that much,” she said mildly, but Eliot could almost sense the concern behind the words.</p>
<p>He couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been known to use that kind of escapist coping before. Couldn’t feel the overwhelming grief if he was too numb to, right?</p>
<p>“I didn’t,” he said. “I just had one. I’m not… hungover. It was—something else.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” she asked.</p>
<p>He looked at her, a little afraid. This hope was so fucking fragile already.</p>
<p>“Okay, look,” he said. “I know how this is going to sound. It’s batshit. You have to hear me out.”</p>
<p>She furrowed her brow. He was, apparently, not making her any less concerned.</p>
<p>“Sure,” she said slowly.</p>
<p>“I—” He took a deep breath, bracing himself. “I saw Quentin.”</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure what exactly he’d expected, but it wasn’t the sympathy that flooded Margo’s face.</p>
<p>“Oh, honey,” she said, and he understood what she thought. She reached for his hand and he jerked it away.</p>
<p>“No,” he said firmly. “I don’t mean, like, I saw him in the grief-ghost-in-a-movie type way. I mean I <em>saw </em>him. I… I even <em>talked </em>to him.”</p>
<p>Margo pulled her hand back, her expression shifting into something a little more distant.</p>
<p>“Eliot…” she started.</p>
<p>She didn’t believe him. She didn’t believe him, and she was trying to talk to him like a therapist, and Eliot was going to lose his mind if she said one more word.</p>
<p>“I did, I <em>swear</em>,<em>”</em> Eliot said quickly. “I saw him—he doesn’t know who he is, though, he doesn’t… He doesn’t, like, remember, or something. But it’s him. It was Quentin.”</p>
<p>“The guy by the bar?” Margo asked, her tone hesitant.</p>
<p>“You saw him, too,” Eliot said, almost relieved, before he saw the way Margo was looking down at the table.</p>
<p>“I saw… I saw a guy that, like. Kinda looked like Quentin.” She cleared her throat, leaning back a little. “I get why you might want this to be something more than that, but…”</p>
<p>“It was <em>him,” </em>Eliot insisted. “Bambi, I’m telling you, it was <em>him.” </em></p>
<p>Margo shook her head, not quite looking at him. She looked a little sick, actually, like she might be dizzy. “Eliot, you need to stop,” she said, her voice trembling just a little bit.</p>
<p>“I’m not crazy,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, desperate. He knew what he saw. He <em>knew, </em>and how could he explain that?</p>
<p>“I know you’re not,” Margo said softly. The softness was enough to make Eliot’s heart crack. “But, El—”</p>
<p>“Please, just <em>listen </em>to me,” Eliot said, just on the edge of begging. He needed her to believe him—or at least, he needed her to understand. He needed her to hear what he was saying and grasp the possibility of it. If there was even a <em>shred </em>of a chance it was real…</p>
<p>“Eliot, you’ve just started—” She closed her eyes, letting out a short sigh. When she finally met his gaze, he wished she hadn’t. The pity in her eyes hurt more than anything else did in that moment. “You’re eating again, you’re sleeping again—like, we <em>finally </em>went out and did something, I just—look, I get that this… That it sucks, okay? But…”</p>
<p>The idea that this was just something he had to get over was gonna kill him. He couldn’t get over this—even if it was possible, he wouldn’t want to. It was <em>Quentin. </em></p>
<p>“Just… It wasn’t him, baby. I wish it was, but it wasn’t, and…” Margo took a shaky breath. “We need to find a way to…”</p>
<p>“Move on?” Eliot said sharply.</p>
<p>Margo pressed her lips together and crossed her arms. “Would that be so bad?” she said, her voice developing an edge, too. “Would it really be the <em>worst </em>thing for us to get on with our lives and find some way to be happy? We can’t just… grieve forever.”</p>
<p>Eliot let out the slightest breath of laughter. “Oh, I think you’ll find that I very much <em>can </em>just <em>grieve forever,” </em>he snapped. “But that’s <em>not what this is about.” </em></p>
<p>Margo raised her hands in less-than-genuine surrender. “Fine, okay. Let’s say you saw him—”</p>
<p>“I <em>did—” </em></p>
<p>“—what the hell are we supposed to do about it?” Margo gestured vaguely. “What, is it his ghost? His long-lost twin? Some guy that just looks eerily similar to him? What are you expecting us to <em>do?” </em></p>
<p>He glared, half angry that she had a point—he had no idea where to start. The other half of him was just hurt, because they were supposed to <em>always </em>be there for each other, and she refused to even try to believe him. “I’m not expecting <em>you </em>to do anything,” he said, his tone dripping more with the anger than the hurt.</p>
<p>Margo’s eyes widened a little and her hands fell. “Eliot, I—” she started.</p>
<p>He held a hand up to stop her. “No. You’ve made yourself clear.” He straightened his spine, standing up, clutching the back of his chair for a moment. “I’m going out. <em>Don’t </em>follow me.”</p>
<p>He turned sharply, his hands shaking, frustrated and hurt and desperate.</p>
<p>“At least bring the fucking cane!” she called to him as he walked out the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Refusing to bring the cane to make some kind of point was, possibly, a mistake. The initial satisfaction of the storm-off was certainly not going to cut it as far as managing Eliot’s ability to walk. He didn’t make it very far before he just started to <em>ache. </em>It wasn’t enough that the world had ended—he had to also still be recovering from months of possession and an axe wound to the stomach.</p>
<p>He found a bench and collapsed down onto it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.</p>
<p>He reached into his pocket and pulled out the napkin the man had scrawled his number onto.</p>
<p>It didn’t look like Quentin’s handwriting. And the name next to the number was “Sebastian.” But that didn’t mean anything, he tried to tell himself, as Margo’s infectious doubt was creeping up on him. No, all it meant was that something was wrong, and he intended to find out what.</p>
<p>He dialed the number.</p>
<p>A sleepy, familiar voice picked up.</p>
<p><em>“There has </em>got<em> to be a good reason for calling this early</em>,<em>”</em> the voice said, despite it being early afternoon at that point.</p>
<p>Eliot’s breath stuck in his throat and he had to cough before he could answer.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sorry—caught you at a bad time?” he replied.</p>
<p>There was a brief silence.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Hang on—hello, is this the guy from the party?” </em>
</p>
<p>Pain clutched between Eliot’s ribs.</p>
<p>“That’s me,” he said, as though that were fine, as though <em>he </em>were fine, as though the idea of being close to nothing to Quentin didn’t kill him.</p>
<p><em>“For you, it’s never a bad time,”</em> came the flirty response. Smooth, unworried—completely unlike Quentin. <em>“To what do I owe the pleasure?”</em></p>
<p>“Thought I’d ask you out for coffee,” Eliot said. This was fine, this was fine, this was fine. Just asking the love of his life, who had recently died, out on a first date. “Y’know, see each other in broad daylight, all that.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Just name the time and the place.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The thought of seeing him again was enough to make the world feel like it was spinning out, leaving gravity off kilter. It was overwhelming. It was unbelievable.</p>
<p>Eliot sat on the bench nearby the coffeeshop where they’d agreed to meet, his heart pounding like it was trying to get out of his chest. Breathing was hard. Existing was hard. He didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore.</p>
<p>“Well, hi there,” a voice came, startling him enough to jump.</p>
<p>Eliot looked up, and there was <em>Quentin, </em>the sunshine haloing around his wind-tousled hair, all bright eyes and dimpled smile. Looking… like himself.</p>
<p>Looking real. Looking alive.</p>
<p>Eliot was pretty sure his heart stopped.</p>
<p>“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Quentin said, smile a little amused. He tilted his head. “You alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”</p>
<p>“Quen—” Eliot cut himself off before he could finish the name, shaking his head. This was ridiculous. How was he supposed to <em>act? </em>There was no guidebook for how to fucking deal with this entire situation. “Sorry, you just—look like someone.”</p>
<p>“Oh, so that wasn’t a line, last night?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were doing that thing—<em>oh, you remind me so much of, have we met before, come here often? </em>Et cetera.”</p>
<p>Eliot let out a small breath of laughter that was painfully, <em>transparently </em>forced. “Not a line,” he said. “You really do look like him.”</p>
<p>There was a breathless pause, Eliot unable to look away.</p>
<p>It was Quentin, he was so sure of it. There are some things you just know to be true, and Eliot felt the certainty like an anchor, keeping him from drifting away. It didn’t matter if Quentin didn’t know who he was, or if Margo didn’t believe him.</p>
<p>Eliot would bet his life on it.</p>
<p>The spell that froze time broke and Quentin cleared his throat, blinking first and taking a small step away.</p>
<p>“So, coffee?” he said, a small, distant smile.</p>
<p>“Right,” Eliot replied.</p>
<p>He got to his feet.</p>
<p><em>Act natural, </em>he tried to tell himself. He had to figure out what was going on, and part of that was going to have to be playing along with whatever was happening right now. He couldn’t just come out and shake Quentin’s memories back into place (as tempting as that sounded) and he had to come across like he was sane.</p>
<p>He <em>wasn’t </em>going to lose Quentin again.</p>
<p>He followed Quentin into the coffeeshop, having trouble keeping his fingers still as they waited in line.</p>
<p>“You didn’t wait three days,” Quentin said, in a faux-casual tone.</p>
<p>“Hm?” Eliot replied, still using most of his focus to not freak out.</p>
<p>Quentin shot him the slightest smirk. “Y’know, to call. You didn’t wait three days. Isn’t that one of those rules?”</p>
<p>Eliot smiled, not thinking to hide the fondness. “Should I have waited?”</p>
<p>Quentin nudged Eliot’s arm with his elbow. “I’m glad you didn’t.”</p>
<p><em>Fuck, </em>this was going to be hard. That touch alone made Eliot want to fall apart. It was all he could do to not throw his arms around Quentin, and kiss him, and tell him how sorry he was, how happy he was to see him again. This casual energy, like they didn’t know each other, like Eliot wasn’t in <em>love </em>with him—</p>
<p>It was excruciating.</p>
<p>They got to the counter, and Quentin stepped up first.</p>
<p>He tossed a careless smile back, looking more confident than Eliot had ever really seen him.</p>
<p>“My treat,” he said.</p>
<p>“I’m the one who invited <em>you</em>,” Eliot replied.</p>
<p>Quentin shrugged, unconcerned. “I’m paying, don’t argue.”</p>
<p>Eliot laughed a little. At least the stubbornness was familiar, though not in the same way.</p>
<p>As they waited by the counter for their drinks, Eliot found himself studying Quentin’s face, looking for the man he knew. There was something so different on the surface, but if he just looked hard enough, from the right angle, in the right light—</p>
<p>He was shaken out of his thoughts by a stack of mugs crashing to floor and shattering. One of the baristas swore, going to get a broom.</p>
<p>The distraction was enough to make Eliot lose his focus and he was back to being agitated and nervous.</p>
<p>They got their drinks after the commotion settled and headed to a table outside. Eliot was feeling so unbelievably bizarre about the whole deal. Honestly, what the <em>genuine </em>fuck? This was Quentin. It wasn’t Quentin. He had to just pretend to be a totally normal person on a totally normal date.</p>
<p>Did Quentin even know he was a Magician? The party had been half and half, so it was hard to say. And Eliot couldn’t just come out and ask. He, truly, had no idea what he <em>could </em>say. Everything was so…</p>
<p><em>Unreal</em>.</p>
<p>That word alone was enough to get his heart rate up.</p>
<p><em>What if this </em>wasn’t<em> real? What if it was a dream, what if he actually was crazy? What if this wasn’t Quentin? </em></p>
<p>It boiled down to the same basic fear.</p>
<p>
  <em>What if Quentin was still dead, and he was kidding himself hoping? </em>
</p>
<p>“So you’re pretty lost in thought there,” Quentin said, leaning forward on the table. His smile reached his eyes.</p>
<p>Eliot let out a short, nervous laugh. <em>God, </em>he didn’t know how to act.</p>
<p>“It’s just—” What was he supposed to say? He decided to go with what was, technically, true. “It’s just been a while. Since I…” He gestured to the whole situation. It had really been quite some time since he’d been on what was, by all appearances, a normal first coffee date.  </p>
<p>“What, <em>you? </em>I don’t believe it.” Quentin’s gaze traced across his face admiringly, dipping down to linger on his lips for a tense moment. When his eyes met Eliot’s again, he smirked.</p>
<p>Presumably at Eliot’s wide-eyed, dumbfounded expressed.</p>
<p>
  <em>Get it together, Waugh. </em>
</p>
<p>He cleared his throat, trying to pull up some semblance of the persona he’d constructed but it was <em>so hard </em>to remember how to be that person around <em>Quentin. </em></p>
<p>“You’ll just have to excuse me if I’m a little rusty on my first date small talk,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee and trying for a casual smile.</p>
<p>“I was never much for small talk anyway,” Quentin replied.</p>
<p>The date was so strange—Sebastian/Quentin’s flirty quips and Eliot feeling more flustered than he ever had around Q before, and time felt like it was moving too fast. Like Eliot couldn’t catch a moment to concentrate, a moment to focus and figure out what was going on.</p>
<p>The talking, the casual touches, that <em>smile—</em></p>
<p>Eliot was going to lose it. This was going to kill him, he was sure of it.</p>
<p>He could barely keep track of how he was acting. Everything was so…</p>
<p>
  <em>Unreal. </em>
</p>
<p>Eventually, Quentin had ended up drifting closer so that his chair was right next to Eliot’s, close enough that their arms kept brushing as they talked.</p>
<p>And Eliot was losing his mind.</p>
<p>They’d finished their drinks—the mugs forgotten in front of them. Eliot could feel the moments slipping away from him and he still didn’t know anything more than he had before. There was a lull in the conversation, and Eliot turned, to try and focus again, try to find what he’d nearly been able to see before, but—</p>
<p>Sebastian—<em>Quentin—</em>was already staring at him.</p>
<p>“What?” Eliot said.</p>
<p>Quentin shook his head. He had this half-cocky, half-earnest grin. “You know, you actually look kinda familiar,” he said, his voice low. “Can’t quite place it, but… I feel like I’ve seen you before.” </p>
<p>Eliot raised an eyebrow, shoving away his stubborn spike of hope at that. “Is that a line?” he drawled.</p>
<p>“Y’know, it actually isn’t,” Quentin replied, wrinkling his nose sheepishly, like he’d been caught in something. His eyes had a hint of wonder in them. “Imagine that?”</p>
<p>“Huh,” Eliot said, his fingers twitching a little. He desperately, <em>desperately </em>wanted this to be real.</p>
<p>“Maybe we knew each other in another life,” Quentin said, gesturing vaguely with his hand. He was leaning closer.</p>
<p>The cologne he was wearing wasn’t Quentin’s.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Eliot said. Trying not to let himself get choked up.</p>
<p>He supposed he’d been too preoccupied with getting himself under control, because he had missed the signals, missed the cues he was usually so in tune with, and—</p>
<p>And Sebastian was kissing him. Leaning up, lips pressed to his without nervousness, without care, one hand against his chest. Kissing him like he had a habit of making the first move on a first date.</p>
<p>Automatically, Eliot kissed him back, like muscle memory. Like in another world, he’d kissed these lips countless times without thinking about it—like this was normal, like it was easy.</p>
<p>And god, it was almost easy for a moment.</p>
<p>Only. Only it wasn’t Quentin.</p>
<p>Eliot pulled away abruptly.</p>
<p>Quentin leaned away, eyes wide. For the first time, he looked uncertain. And he looked more like the Quentin Eliot knew. “You okay, El?”</p>
<p>“Fine, sorry, I—” Eliot froze. “What did you call me?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You called—you called me El.”</p>
<p>Quentin—<em>Sebastian—</em>laughed. “Just trying out a nickname. Sorry, should I not?”</p>
<p>“No, it’s fine—just, ah, just caught me off guard.” Eliot laughed, a nervous, overwhelmed sound. “I’m sorry—I really did mean it when I said it’s, um, been a while.”</p>
<p>Quentin reached over, tracing a finger down Eliot’s jawline slowly. Eliot swallowed hard. Time stopped.</p>
<p>“This too fast for you?” Quentin asked, voice almost low enough to be a whisper.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Eliot breathed. <em>Stop it, </em>he told his pounding heart, his racing pulse.</p>
<p>Quentin pulled back, grinning.</p>
<p>“No problem,” he said, breezily, nonchalant. Like it was nothing. Like it was easy. “We should do this again sometime, though.”</p>
<p>Eliot cleared his throat. “Mhmm. Yeah. We, um. We should.”</p>
<p>“Oh, hey, there’s another party tomorrow,” Quentin said. He touched his fingers to Eliot’s wrist. “You should totally come. I can text you the details.”</p>
<p>Before Eliot could really process anything, Quentin was standing up, shooting him another bright smile. And he left.</p>
<p>And Eliot was sitting here, still feeling Quentin’s lips on his, at a complete and total loss.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. lost and found</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm just. Here now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The nice thing about being friends with Penny was just how fast he could show up after you texted him.</p><p>Margo had spent some time pacing the length of the apartment, sort of just hoping that Eliot would come back to get the cane, at the very least. No such luck. She should’ve figured he’d be stubborn enough to commit to putting himself in pain before coming back after a storm-out.</p><p>When it became truly clear that Eliot wasn’t coming back anytime soon, Margo finally caved and just texted Penny.</p><p>Who else could she talk to?</p><p>He showed up on the balcony looking disheveled and exhausted.</p><p>“Damn, 23,” Margo said from where she was lounging back with sangria. “You look awful.”</p><p>“Thanks.” He shot her a look. “Can’t sleep in that apartment. Julia is up all hours of the night with all that research. Second I finally fell asleep last night, I was woken up by her throwing a fucking book against the wall.”</p><p>Margo handed him a beer and he fell back into his seat with a heavy sigh. Yeah, that was about right.</p><p>“Eliot thinks he saw Quentin,” Margo said casually.</p><p>She saw Penny turn to her sharply out of her peripheral vision, as she continued to look out over the city.</p><p>“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Penny asked.</p><p>Margo shrugged. “Just that. He thinks he saw Quentin at that stupid fucking party.” She shook her head, putting her glass down. She met Penny’s eyes, feeling a little lost and just hoping he could tether her. Ironic, given who he was. “I should never have made him go. I should’ve known he wasn’t, like, ready for that kind of thing, I just… God, I’m so tired of everything being awful.”</p><p>“You <em>really </em>couldn’t have known this would happen,” Penny replied.</p><p>“Doesn’t make me feel any fucking better, really.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Penny offered a tired half-smile. “I get that.”</p><p>And it really felt like he did.</p><p>Their side of everything was <em>just </em>exhausting, full of sleepless nights and guilt and facing reality. Alice and Kady could go off on some mission, bury themselves in work and refuse to answer any phone calls, and Eliot and Julia could chase lost causes and impossible hope and imagine that there was some way to go back to before. Meanwhile, Margo and Penny were left to deal with it all.</p><p>Margo didn’t really know how they ended up here. She didn’t care to trace their steps. Whatever. They were where they were.</p><p>“What’s keeping you here, 23?” She gestured vaguely. “You could go anywhere in the world, why are you sticking around for this?”</p><p>Penny was quiet for a moment and Margo had a moment of quiet fear, thinking that the answer could just be “nothing” and then she’d lose him, too.</p><p>“Where the hell else am I gonna go?” he said through a thin sigh.</p><p>She glanced over at him and they shared a wry smile.</p><p> </p><p>Julia was stretched out on her couch, flipping through books she’d already read, her eyes practically glazing over. She’d been at this for weeks, and she couldn’t give up, but she’d hit so many dead ends. She wasn’t sure where to go from here.</p><p>Her magic had been getting back to normal. She’d sort of done a speed run of figuring out all the spells she’d known before, and she was at a place where she could manage to make it all work. More or less, anyway. Her party tricks were all back at least.</p><p>But <em>something </em>was wrong. Because even the most basic underworld-related spells were malfunctioning or amounting to nothing for her. Even the pretty simple ones where you just summon ghosts to mirrors or where you enchant a phone to call someone who died.</p><p>They just weren’t <em>working. </em>No matter what spell she did, she couldn’t access Quentin in the underworld. It was like he wasn’t there, and it was driving her crazy.</p><p>She’d managed to get ahold of someone else, if briefly. She’d held on to a phone enchantment long enough to have a conversation with Quentin’s dad, but the phone cut out before she could ask him for Quentin, and he’d been too confused to hear from her to catch on to anything.</p><p>It was starting to feel like nothing would ever work, which was <em>stupid, </em>because <em>something </em>had to work. It just had to. She couldn’t give up—it wasn’t an option.</p><p>Penny 23 had been getting less and less patient with her. Theoretically, they were roommates at this point, though she wasn’t sure how much time he actually spent at their place. He seemed to be with Margo more often than not these days, even more so than when they were all staying at Kady’s.</p><p><em>Nope, not thinking about Kady, </em>Julia told herself quickly. <em>Can’t go there. </em></p><p>They hadn’t seen Kady in weeks. Or Alice, for that matter.</p><p>Whatever. It was <em>fine. </em>Julia didn’t have it in her to be mad about that.</p><p>But, okay, she <em>was </em>pretty frustrated that Kady would just bail when Julia’s best friend <em>died. </em>Maybe she and Kady hadn’t been in the best place when it all went down, but Julia still <em>cared, </em>and it actually kind of fucking hurt that it seemed like Kady didn’t. Whatever. It was fine. She and Alice could do whatever they wanted.</p><p>Julia was busy anyway.</p><p>Or. She would be busy if any of the books had anything remotely useful in them.</p><p>She sighed, tossing the book she’d been looking at back onto the coffee table.</p><p>She wasn’t giving up. She just needed a break.</p><p>Which was when Eliot burst through the front door, startling her enough that she nearly fell off the couch.</p><p>“Jesus, Eliot,” she said, getting to her feet and smoothing down her hair. “What the hell?”</p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” he said. He seemed frantic, immediately pacing, eyes a little wild.</p><p>“Um,” she said. “Not that it’s not great to see you, but…”</p><p>He stopped walking, turning to her with an intense gaze.</p><p>“Okay, I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to hear me out,” he said, voice low and serious.</p><p>“Okay,” Julia replied. If it got him this worked up, she was definitely listening. She sat back down, gesturing him over</p><p>He took a seat next to her on the couch, staring straight ahead like he didn’t want to look into her eyes as he told her what was happening.</p><p>“Quentin’s alive,” he said quietly.</p><p>The words barely made sense to her.</p><p>“Wh-okay, what?” Julia blinked, staring at Eliot’s profile, looking for some sign that this might be a really fucking mean joke. “What do you mean he’s <em>alive? </em>Eliot, what the hell are you talking about?”</p><p>“I saw him,” he said. He turned to her, eyes wide with desperate sincerity. “I <em>spoke </em>to him. Julia, it’s <em>him. </em>He doesn’t… He doesn’t know who he is, but it’s him.”</p><p>Julia frowned, her mind spinning. Eliot wasn’t lying. He wouldn’t. “How is that possible?”</p><p>“I don’t know!” Eliot replied. “I don’t <em>know, </em>but it’s the truth. Please believe me. I need you here. I need you to be with me on this.”</p><p>Julia nodded, a little vacantly. “Right. Um. Right, I…” She shook her head. “So… what, like he lost all his memories?”</p><p>“Or they got replaced,” Eliot replied. “He introduced himself as Sebastian. He didn’t know me.”</p><p>Julia’s eyes widened. “You mean like the identity spell Fogg put us under, before?”</p><p>“Uh, I don’t—” Eliot started.</p><p>“Right, you were possessed for, like, all of that.” Julia frowned, considering. “Oh, god, this makes—this makes sense. Okay. I get it.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, what?” he replied. “<em>Please </em>tell me how this makes sense.”</p><p>“Why none of my spells could find him in the underworld. Because he’s not <em>there.”</em> Julia tucked her hair behind her ear, her mind moving fast. If Quentin had been alive this whole time… If he’d been <em>here, </em>in the city…</p><p>“If he’s under some—some identity spell, or…” Eliot looked at her, eyes wide. “What can we do? Where do we start?”</p><p>If Julia was being offered a way to hope, a way to believe, she was grabbing hold of it. The books weren’t getting her anywhere, the research was a maze full of dead ends—this was <em>something. </em></p><p>Quentin could be <em>alive. </em>He could be okay.</p><p>“We need to talk to Fogg,” she said.</p><p> </p><p>Eliot felt weird being in Fogg’s office again. Julia seemed to barely register it as they went, just rushing as fast as she could, not pausing for anything. Keeping her focus. But Eliot couldn’t help but get a little trapped in the memories, in the lingering echoes of who he’d been before.</p><p>Brakebills in general felt strange to him—he used to love it so much there. He used to feel like it was the first real home he’d ever had.</p><p>Coming back felt…</p><p>Well, not like that.</p><p>Maybe it was how much had changed. Maybe it was all the memories. Maybe it was that this place had never really been a home—it was just where Eliot had felt safe, once.</p><p>“Eliot, Julia,” Fogg greeted, sitting down in his chair. “To what to I owe the—”</p><p>“We know,” Julia blurted out. She was leaning forward in her chair, her hands clenched in her lap.</p><p>Fogg was silent for a moment. Eliot tried to decipher whether it was a guilty silence or a confused silence, but he couldn’t tell.</p><p>“What is it that you’re referring to?” Fogg said carefully.</p><p>“About Quentin,” she replied. “We know about Quentin.”</p><p>“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Fogg said.</p><p>Julia narrowed her eyes. “Don’t play dumb.”</p><p>Fogg leaned forward, his elbows on his desk, and looked at Julia with sincere regret. Eliot barely knew they had any connection, let alone that Fogg had some kind of genuine affection for Julia. He stayed quiet, trying to read the situation.</p><p>“I wouldn’t do that, Julia,” Fogg said softly. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>“The identity spell,” Julia said.</p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>Fogg really did seem confused.</p><p>Maybe they were wrong.</p><p>“The <em>identity </em>spell,” Julia repeated with emphasis. She was started to look a desperate sort of frustrated, like she was going to cling to this with everything in her. “Eliot saw Quentin, we <em>know </em>he’s alive, and we know that you put him under that spell again.”</p><p>“I… didn’t,” Fogg said, blinking at her. He didn’t seem to know what to do.</p><p>“No, we <em>know </em>it was you—and you can’t just—you can’t just do that, not again, you can’t play with our lives like that,” Julia went on, the words tumbling out of her, rushed and bordering on afraid.</p><p>“Julia—” Eliot started, his voice low.</p><p>“Julia, I promise you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Fogg said.</p><p>“But—” Julia let out a short sigh. “But if it wasn’t you, then…”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Fogg said. It sounded like he really was, too. Like he was sorry for every part of it. And Eliot’s heart clutched, because if this wasn’t it, if this wasn’t the answer—</p><p>And Fogg was looking at them with the kind of pity that said he, too, believed that they were just grasping at hallucinations or ghosts, because Quentin was gone, and he was never coming back.</p><p>“Okay, this was a waste of time,” Julia stood up abruptly. “We’re leaving.”</p><p>Oh, okay.</p><p>“Julia—” Fogg tried, but Julia was already walking towards the door.</p><p>Eliot offered a slight shrug, like <em>what can you do, </em>and followed her out.</p><p>The second the door closed behind them, Julia turned to him.</p><p>“I need to see him,” she said.</p><p>The intensity in her gaze made Eliot freeze. Julia had been so tired and broken with grief lately that he’d nearly forgotten what she could be like. How deeply she felt everything—like grief, yes, but also determination and hope and stubbornness.</p><p>“Right,” Eliot said.</p><p>“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Julia added quickly, her gaze flitting away. “I do. I swear, I really, really do. I just…”</p><p>“I get it,” Eliot said. “He invited me to a party tomorrow night. Come with me.”</p><p> </p><p>Eliot managed to avoid Margo when he’d gotten back from Brakebills—she was out on the balcony with Penny, <em>again</em>, and he just crept to his room. He didn’t want to have another <em>talk </em>and he didn’t want to try to defend himself again and he <em>really </em>didn’t want <em>Penny </em>to be there for it.</p><p>
  <em>Seriously, why was Penny always there? Didn’t he live with Julia? </em>
</p><p>Whatever, it wasn’t important. What <em>was </em>important was that they at least had first steps. Eliot was taking Julia to the party the next day—she’d see what he saw, and then they could figure it out from there.</p><p>Julia believed him. That’s what mattered.</p><p>For the first time in what felt like forever, he slept soundly.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. broken and borrowed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just watched Those People again with some friends tonight. That's really quite a movie. <br/>Anyway, next chapter, here we are! Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Margo waited for Eliot that afternoon in the kitchen, having bought a latte from the coffeeshop around the corner as a peace offering of sorts. She didn’t want to fight with him. She <em>really </em>didn’t want to fight with him about something like this.</p>
<p>She tried to channel some person with tact, but then realized she didn’t know any. Fucking stellar.</p>
<p>Venting to Penny had been helpful, and she’d managed to get most of her frustration out to him. She just wanted to help Eliot, and this new <em>thing </em>that he was…</p>
<p>Well, she wasn’t a fan of the idea that Eliot was losing his mind. And she was trying to figure out how to get through to him, she <em>honestly </em>was, but what was she supposed to say? Sometimes, Eliot was impossible to talk to, and he’d never been the most receptive when it came to conversations about Quentin. Even in the best of circumstances.</p>
<p>This wasn’t the best of circumstances.</p>
<p>Still a little nervous, and frustrated, and tired, she sent a quick text to Penny—</p>
<p>
  <em>Got any words of wisdom for me, 23? </em>
</p>
<p>The little typing bubble came up right away.</p>
<p>
  <em>Sure, never drink and drive. </em>
</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes.</p>
<p>
  <em>Helpful. </em>
</p>
<p>He replied—</p>
<p>
  <em>All I got, Hanson. Anyway, you don’t need any words of wisdom. You got this. </em>
</p>
<p>She was smiling a little down at her phone when Eliot finally came into the room.</p>
<p>He looked more genuinely put together than he had in a while. Hair washed, an outfit that looked as carefully selected as they’d been before, some light eyeshadow. He even looked more rested than she’d seen him in…</p>
<p>She couldn’t remember.</p>
<p>She gestured to the latte. “Got you something.”</p>
<p>“Thanks, Bambi,” he said slowly. He sat down across from her carefully.</p>
<p>“So…” she started, tapping a nail against her own cup. “How are you feeling today?”</p>
<p>If she was lucky, she figured he’d have come to his senses and they could just pretend like nothing had happened. She was never great at having, well, <em>conversations </em>about serious things. And she was really never great at trying to express concern without coming off as angry or accusatory.</p>
<p><em>Quentin would be better at this, </em>she thought to herself. Far from the first time.</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” he replied. He took a sip of the latte. “I was fine yesterday, too.”</p>
<p>He said it in <em>a tone. </em></p>
<p>Ah. So they weren’t going to just pretend like nothing happened.</p>
<p><em>Fucking </em>stellar.</p>
<p>“You sure seemed it,” Margo said dryly, and immediately regretted it. Starting with sarcasm was probably not the best way to deal.</p>
<p>Eliot offered a tight, forced smile. “I was,” he said.</p>
<p>The tension was a little excruciating, and Margo was already getting frustrated and impatient. Why couldn’t he be coping in a way that wasn’t…</p>
<p>Well, <em>this. </em></p>
<p>Margo didn’t want to be in the position to have to just break the news to him that Quentin was dead <em>again. </em>It was awful enough the first time—having Eliot wake up from possession and injury, looking tired but alive and a little bit hopeful, and she had to be the one to tell him.</p>
<p>It was one of the worst things she’d ever had to do. She didn’t even want to think about it ever again, let alone relive it.</p>
<p>Eliot hadn’t believed her at first—</p>
<p><em>That can’t be right, it just can’t be, </em>he’d said, his words rushed, his eyes panicked. <em>No, you’re wrong, there has to be something—he can’t just be gone, Bambi, it’s not possible—</em></p>
<p>And she’d had to be the one to be reasonable, to be level-headed, to be <em>gentle. </em></p>
<p>How the <em>fuck </em>was she supposed to tell him that Quentin was dead <em>again? </em>That there was nothing they could do, that they’d already <em>tried, </em>and they’d found nothing? That he was never coming back, and they all had to live with that?</p>
<p>“Eliot—” she started, warning in her voice. It was all she could do to hold it together.</p>
<p>“Quentin invited me to a party tonight,” Eliot said suddenly.</p>
<p>Well, <em>fucking stellar. </em></p>
<p>Margo wasn’t going to be able to handle this. She just wasn’t. She needed <em>anyone </em>to come and deal with this for her.</p>
<p>“Quentin did,” Margo repeated flatly.</p>
<p>God, she was so tired and so furious and so lost.</p>
<p>Eliot just tensed his jaw. “Well, he thinks his name is Sebastian right now. Julia thinks he might be under some kind of identity spell—”</p>
<p>Margo couldn’t hold back from scoffing that time. She managed, barely, to hold back from screaming that Quentin was <em>dead, </em>and yeah, that <em>really fucking hurt, </em>but they couldn’t just <em>pretend like it wasn’t true.</em></p>
<p>She couldn’t handle any more hope anyway. It hurt too much to lose.</p>
<p>Eliot let out a short, stubborn sigh. “I get that you don’t believe me,” he said evenly. “But I’d like it if you came with me and Julia to the party tonight. Please. Just… to take another look.”</p>
<p>“No,” Margo said sharply. “<em>No, </em>I’m not going to go with you and Julia as you try to fucking—see solutions where there aren’t any. Sometimes things just <em>suck, </em>Eliot, and there’s no sudden fix, and I’m not going to go and watch you torture yourself with some fucking made-up hope, okay? I’m not doing it.”</p>
<p>“Fine,” Eliot said, his tone <em>infuriatingly </em>calm. “You don’t have to. I just wanted to ask.”</p>
<p>“This <em>isn’t </em>fair,” she snapped, heat in her cheeks from the frustration. “I don’t want him to be dead either, but it’s not that <em>fucking </em>easy.”</p>
<p>Eliot barely reacted, poised and stoic. “I’m not going to fight with you about this,” he said. “I saw him again—I <em>know </em>it’s him. It’s not up for debate.”</p>
<p>Margo threw her hands up. “Fine. Fine, whatever! Stay in denial or fucking bargaining or whatever the hell <em>this</em> is, indulge the fantasy. See if I care.”</p>
<p>He narrowed his eyes. “Right, the anger stage seems <em>much</em> better,” he snipped back.</p>
<p>At least it was a show of emotion. At least it was a reaction.</p>
<p>She waved him off. “Whatever. I’ll be here when you get back. I always fucking am, right?”</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes and stood up, picking up the latte. At least there was that—if the fight was worse, he’d have left it behind out of spite. He walked towards the door, grabbing the cane before he left this time.</p>
<p>Margo put her face in her hands, groaning. She wanted to scream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The party was… something. It was something alright.</p>
<p>It reminded Eliot, in a lot of ways, of the parties back at the Physical Cottage. The music, the aesthetic. It was in a nice townhouse in Manhattan, decorated in a way that Eliot might’ve chosen himself—<em>was this seriously where Quentin lived? </em></p>
<p>It was strange. He couldn’t picture Quentin selecting a place like this. Then again, he wasn’t quite himself.</p>
<p>Julia was sticking close to him. Eliot was pretty sure her nerves were as through the roof as his own, if not more so. The crowd was a little much for him at this point. They’d barely gotten inside, let in by some half-drunk stranger, and Eliot already felt himself wanting to get some air.</p>
<p>“Eliot!” called a voice.</p>
<p>He turned, to see Sebastian/Quentin rushing over to him, grinning, holding a full cup of something brightly colored that sloshed and spilled a little onto the floor when he got there. He put a hand on Eliot’s shoulder, seeming unsteady on his feet.</p>
<p>“You came!” he said.</p>
<p>He sounded… fuck, he sounded <em>happy. </em></p>
<p>Eliot let out an uneasy breath of laughter. “I sure did.”</p>
<p>Next to him, Julia clutched his forearm with a strength he didn’t know she had. It felt like it was going to bruise.</p>
<p>“Ah, I hope you don’t mind I brought a friend,” Eliot said, turning to Julia, trying to convey <em>stay cool </em>in his eyes. “Sebastian, this is Julia. Julia, Sebastian.”</p>
<p>Quentin turned to her, eyes bright, if a little glazed from the alcohol. “The more the merrier,” he said. “And any friend of Eliot’s is welcome here, of course.”</p>
<p>“Nice, um, nice to meet you,” Julia managed to get out. It sounded like she was barely breathing.</p>
<p>“Drinks!” Quentin said suddenly. “Oh, I gotta get you two drinks! Come with me, we’ve got it all.”</p>
<p>He gestured with a distinctly un-Quentin flourish and led the way with an easy stride.</p>
<p>“That’s—” Julia said softly.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Eliot replied.</p>
<p>“I can’t—”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“It’s <em>him,” </em>Julia said.</p>
<p>Eliot had known—but the relief of hearing Julia say it nearly made him weak in the knees. He’d been running on stubborn, guarded hope, and Julia’s breathless words cracked him wide open and he was close to giddy with it.</p>
<p>
  <em>It was Quentin. </em>
</p>
<p>Eliot tugged Julia’s arm, following Quentin as closely as they could manage as he weaved through the crowd towards the kitchen.</p>
<p>The kitchen, thankfully, was a lot more sparse. It seemed most people already had their drinks and had moved into the main room. Quentin gestured towards two empty stools against a kitchen island that had a bowl of what looked like sangria on it, as well as several partial bottles of varying liquors.</p>
<p>“What’s your poison?” Quentin said, leaning on the counter, with a wide, easy smile.</p>
<p>Eliot glanced at Julia, who looked back at him with confused slightly-panicked eyes. Which was fair. Quentin was…</p>
<p>Well, seeing him like this was beyond bizarre. Twilight Zone level weird. Eliot wanted to flick holy water at him, which was not an impulse he could say he’d ever had before.</p>
<p>“What do you have?” Eliot asked, stalling slightly.</p>
<p>“Oh, whatever your heart desires,” Quentin replied.</p>
<p>Considering how hard his heart was beating, it seemed like what it really desired was to escape from the confines of his chest and stick right to Quentin’s.</p>
<p>“Jack and coke?” Julia managed.</p>
<p>“Ah, a classic, of course. I love it.” Quentin patted her head and she blinked like a frozen deer. “Coming right up. Julia, was it?”</p>
<p>“Mhm,” she said.</p>
<p>“Sorry, I always have to check! I’m <em>so </em>bad with names.” Quentin turned away to pull a glass out of a cupboard and the coke out of the fridge.</p>
<p>Julia turned to Eliot and mouthed <em>what the fuck. </em>He just shrugged.</p>
<p><em>Hell if I know, </em>Eliot thought, half-hysterically.</p>
<p>Quentin gave Julia her drink with a smile.</p>
<p>“How about you?” he said to Eliot, leaning close. “What can I do for you?”</p>
<p>Eliot smiled, tilting his head. “How about you surprise me? Make me something I’ve never had before.”</p>
<p>Quentin grinned, bringing a hand to Eliot’s chin to lift it slightly. He brushed a thumb close to Eliot’s lower lip. “I love a challenge,” he said, in a low tone.</p>
<p>Eliot, a little captivated, just stared into Quentin’s eyes. So sure of himself, so full of life, he…</p>
<p>He leaned in, just a little, trying to catch something behind Quentin’s eyes. Something deeper, something hidden—he knew it was there, if he could just—</p>
<p>A crash startled him and he jerked back. A whiskey bottle had fallen to the floor and broken. A few of the people who’d been standing near it had jumped back and were looking at each other, bewildered, like they were trying to figure out what happened.</p>
<p>“Shit,” Quentin said with a short sigh. “I’ll make your drink after I deal with this.”</p>
<p>He glanced back, offering another smile and brushing some of Eliot’s hair back softly, before he headed over to the mess.</p>
<p>Eliot turned to Julia, who was staring at him already.</p>
<p>“No one touched that bottle,” she said.</p>
<p>He stared back at her, not understanding.</p>
<p>She glanced at Quentin, where he was cleaning up the broken glass. “It just <em>fell.” </em>She looked at Eliot again, gaze serious. “The identity spell—the way Fogg cast it, things would break around you if you got too close to it. It was <em>heavily </em>warded.”</p>
<p>“So you think—”</p>
<p>“That’s what I’m saying.”</p>
<p>Eliot glanced over at Quentin. “Well, Fogg didn’t do this. He had no idea what we were talking about.”</p>
<p>They were quiet for a moment. Eliot tapped his thumb against his leg, considering.</p>
<p>“Who could’ve done it, then?” Julia murmured.</p>
<p>Well, that was the question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Penny showed up on the balcony a little earlier than usual, without warning. Margo had already been sitting out there for a while, not sure what else to do with herself.</p>
<p>“Fancy seeing you here,” she said.</p>
<p>Penny looked genuinely a little angry, which surprised Margo. Lately they’d both been too tired for that sort of thing, at least when they were with each other.</p>
<p>“Whatever Eliot’s into, he got Julia involved now, too,” Penny said, his tone sharp. “She’s gone.”</p>
<p>“Gone as in <em>gone, </em>or gone as in out?” Margo said, crossing her arms.</p>
<p>Penny clenched his jaw. “Gone as in out, but—”</p>
<p>“Yeah, whatever, they’re at a party. Calm down and <em>knock it off. </em>I <em>know </em>you’re not about to be mad at <em>Eliot </em>for Julia’s decisions. And I <em>really </em>know you’re not about to blame <em>me </em>for any of it,” Margo snapped.</p>
<p>Penny let out a short, frustrated breath. “Fine. Fine. But—”</p>
<p>“No. I don’t like this any more than you do, but <em>you </em>try talking some sense into either of them,” Margo said, impatient. “It’s not gonna work.”</p>
<p>They kept staring at each other like that for a few more long, tense moments before Penny sighed, defeated, and dropped into his chair. “I’m sorry,” he said. He sounded drained, now that the momentary anger wasn’t giving him the energy. “I’m just…”</p>
<p>“I get it,” Margo said, settling into her own seat. “I get it, but—”</p>
<p>“No, I know.”</p>
<p>“Are you and Julia even… Whatever you were, anymore?” She didn’t know how to categorize their relationship. Honestly, whatever was happening between them, she’d been way too preoccupied to pay attention. It was before she and 23 were even really in each other’s orbits.</p>
<p>“No,” Penny said with another sigh. “No, and we’re not… We’re not gonna be. But I still care about her.”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” Margo said.</p>
<p>He shrugged. “I wanted it to be more than it was. It happens.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know what to do about either of them,” Margo admitted quietly. “They’re so…”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Penny agreed.</p>
<p>“It’s not him, but they won’t hear it,” Margo said. “Have you met him? Sebastian?”</p>
<p>Penny rubbed the back of his neck. “Kinda. I… might have followed them to the party. Traveled in just to see the guy. Honestly, I can <em>see </em>how he looks like Q, but…”</p>
<p>“But not <em>that </em>much, right?” Margo said, turning in her chair to look at him. “Like the hair and eyes, sure, but he’s a completely different guy.”</p>
<p>Penny nodded. “The resemblance is like… It looks like they could be cousins, maybe.”</p>
<p>“Wish I knew how to get them to let it go,” Margo said.</p>
<p>“I think we just have to let them figure it out for themselves,” Penny replied.</p>
<p>“Well, fuck,” Margo sighed. “That sucks.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, what else is new?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eliot and Julia lost track of Quentin after a while. It was a new experience for them both, watching him flit away to talk to people, disappearing grinning into crowds. They ended up splitting up later in the night, trying to catch him again before they had to leave to figure out what their next move was.</p>
<p>Eliot ended up finding Quentin in a side room, tucked away in a far corner, well away from the crowds of the party. He was stretched out on a couch, the lights off.</p>
<p>For a moment, Eliot thought he might be asleep, until he stirred and caught sight of Eliot in the doorway.</p>
<p>“Eliot?” Quentin murmured, his voice slurring a little.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, were you—”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, I’m just…” Quentin let out a small, empty laugh. “I don’t know. Hiding? Please, come join me.”</p>
<p>Eliot hesitated, uncertain. There was something strange in Quentin’s tone. He walked over slowly. Quentin shifted to give him space to sit down on the couch.</p>
<p>Eliot sat down, feeling uneasy and out of place, like he was a character stuck in the wrong movie. Quentin shot him a smile with glazed, distant eyes, and then he stretched back out, settling so that he had his head in Eliot’s lap.</p>
<p>And Eliot’s heart stuttered.</p>
<p>“Why are you hiding?” Eliot asked, partly just for something to say.</p>
<p>Quentin rolled his eyes. “Ugh, too many <em>other </em>people out there,” he said, gesturing dismissively. “I’m bored of it.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t they your friends?” Eliot said.</p>
<p>“Hm. <em>Acquaintances,” </em>Quentin replied with emphasis. “I don’t so much have <em>friends</em> anymore. They’ve all drifted off elsewhere.”</p>
<p>Eliot caught onto that thought, turning it over in his head. <em>Convenient for a manufactured identity, isn’t it? </em></p>
<p>Quentin looked up at him, smiling. He reached over to Eliot’s hand, tangling their fingers together. Eliot subsequently lost the ability to breathe for a moment. “God, I’m being so depressing, I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“No, please,” Eliot replied. “Say whatever you like. Really.”</p>
<p>Quentin studied him, his eyes tracing down to Eliot’s lips, like they had at the coffeeshop. He pulled Eliot’s hand over to his face, kissing Eliot’s wrist gently. “You know, I actually think you really mean that,” Quentin said softly.</p>
<p>“Of course I mean it,” Eliot said.</p>
<p>“I’m glad you came,” Quentin murmured, his eyes fluttering shut. “’S’nice. To have you here.”</p>
<p>“Thanks for inviting me,” Eliot replied. He brushed his other hand through Quentin’s hair, feeling his throat tighten with emotion.</p>
<p>He never thought he’d see Quentin again, and now…</p>
<p>“I feel like I know you,” Quentin said, his voice distant and clouded. “Is that weird?”</p>
<p>“You do know me,” Eliot replied, trying to sound casual about it.</p>
<p>Quentin let out a soft little laugh. “No, I mean…”</p>
<p>“I know what you mean,” Eliot said. As he said it, he heard how it was too bare. Too honest.  </p>
<p>Quentin looked up at Eliot again, smiling warmly. “See? Like that.”</p>
<p>The way Quentin was looking at him was getting to be too much. Eliot could feel himself wanting to vanish, wanting to run away—up until this moment, it hadn’t felt…</p>
<p>Well, it hadn’t felt like <em>this. </em>Like it was <em>him. </em>It was someone else, and that had made it easier, because Eliot could focus on the part where he was trying to save the man he loved. He could focus on the part where he had something to fix, some mission to finish.</p>
<p>Some door to go through.</p>
<p>This…</p>
<p>Was something else.</p>
<p>“Hey,” Quentin said. His tone was soft, sincere—it sounded <em>so much </em>like him. Eliot could’ve fallen to pieces right then and there. “Stay with me?”</p>
<p>Eliot forced a smile through the heartache.</p>
<p>“I’ll have to get going soon,” he said. Managing to keep his voice from cracking through some distant miracle.</p>
<p>“Hm.” Quentin closed his eyes, smiling a little. “Figures as much. Everyone always has to get going eventually, don’t they? Everyone has somewhere to be.”</p>
<p>Eliot stroked his fingers through Quentin’s hair. It was too much—it was all too much. He loved Quentin more than he could say. He’d <em>missed </em>him. And here he was, close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to apologize.  </p>
<p>And Eliot didn’t know what to do.</p>
<p>He didn’t know how to start.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. might've had, could've been</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y'all, I have a lot of feelings about these disasters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Margo paced.</p><p>She paced a lot.</p><p>It was starting to feel like Eliot lived at Julia’s and like 23 lived here, and Margo was getting frustrated. She’d tried talking to Eliot, but he wouldn’t hear a word she said. She’d hoped that the party, or whatever, might’ve made Eliot and Julia see more clearly, but it just seemed to get them more lost in the fantasy.</p><p>Penny was having similar issues. He said that he’d tried talking to Julia, and their argument had gotten to the point when Julia snapped at him that if he wasn’t going to help, he needed to stay out of their way.</p><p>It had been a couple of days, and Margo felt like any tiny steps of progress they’d made was just slipping through her fingers with every passing moment. They hadn’t been doing <em>great—</em>far from it. Some days had been worse than others, and they’d been held together by tattered thread. But they’d been managing, and it was actually pretty fucking distressing that Eliot and Julia were just falling off the deep end. It just felt like no matter what they did, they were never going to be able to come back from this one, and that scared the hell out of her.</p><p>She hadn’t heard Penny come in, because of course she hadn’t, so she swore and jumped back when she turned around and he was standing there.</p><p>He looked a little amused. Bastard.</p><p>He usually only traveled to their balcony, so it was a little strange to see him in the living room. He looked pretty hyperaware of his own presence in the room, too, shifting on his feet a little.</p><p>“Get a fucking bell if you’re gonna do that,” Margo snapped, smoothing down her hair and shaking off the surprise.</p><p>“I brought bagels,” he said, lifting the cardboard container in his hand.</p><p>Margo narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine, you’re forgiven.”</p><p>She took the box from him and brought it to the table, grabbing paper towels and knives for the cream cheese.</p><p>“No beer?” she asked.</p><p>“Thought it might be nice to have something other than alcohol,” Penny said, in a forced casual tone.</p><p>Margo shot him a look. “What, are you trying to trick me into coping better?” she said, pointing a knife at him in joking accusation.</p><p>He laughed. “It’s just… I don’t know, with everything with Eliot and Julia, I figured it might do us some good to… try something a little better. Take a bit of a break from… all that.”</p><p>She softened at that and smiled a little at him. It was… nice. She sort of loved him for it.</p><p>“Can’t argue with that,” she said.</p><p>It was true that they’d been having their own little escapist pity party for a while. Julia and Eliot might’ve been throwing themselves into first endless wallowing and now obsession, but Margo could admit that she and Penny had been numbing themselves, too. Maybe it was time to try and be a little better, for the sake of moving forward.</p><p>For the sake of not slipping further into whatever grief spiral was going on around them.</p><p> </p><p>Eliot told himself—and Julia, too—that he had to keep spending time with Sebastian to keep tabs on him. Because, yeah, they needed to figure out who cast the spell and, yeah, they needed to break it, but if they lost track of Quentin while they were doing that, it would cause a whole other issue.</p><p>Julia hadn’t been fully convinced, but she also had been doing the bulk of the research anyway, so Eliot didn’t think it bothered her all that much.</p><p>The ulterior motive was, naturally, that Eliot really just wanted to see him again.</p><p>Honestly, he probably could’ve just said <em>that</em> to Julia and she would’ve understood, but he didn’t want to admit it.</p><p>It was hard to say the words.</p><p>It had been a few days since the party, and the strange panic of something that felt so real—and <em>wasn’t, </em>because it <em>wasn’t him—</em>had faded into this dull desperation to see him again. Partly just because Eliot needed to see him, needed him to be tangibly in front of him, just to remember that this was real. Partly because, well, he was the love of Eliot’s life and he always would be.</p><p>Eliot had called, just trying for another coffee date or something, but Sebastian had invited him over instead.</p><p>So he was standing outside the townhouse, clutching his cane like a lifeline. Staring at the door.</p><p>And he just kept thinking of the door to their little cottage, the one they’d painted once they’d been there long enough to feel like it was home. The one they’d lived long enough to watch the paint slowly begin to peel and flake off of over the years. The one that had manifested in his mind when he needed to find a way to reach the outside world again.</p><p>Maybe he was getting a little lost in thought, standing there—</p><p>Thinking of everything he’d never told Quentin. Everything he thought he’d lost the chance to say.</p><p>
  <em>When I’m braver—</em>
</p><p>The door opened and Eliot actually stumbled back a little.</p><p>Quentin was there, leaning on the frame, an eyebrow arched at him. An unfamiliar smirk on his face.</p><p>“How long have you been standing there?” Quentin said, amusement in his tone.</p><p>Eliot laughed a little, uncomfortably. “Would you believe me if I said I just got here?”</p><p>“No, I’ve been watching through the window,” Quentin replied. His smirk grew into a genuine grin. “C’mon, get in here.”</p><p>Quentin stepped aside and Eliot walked up the stairs, crossing the threshold again.</p><p>It looked different in the daylight, empty of drunk people stumbling over each other. It still didn’t look quite like Quentin, but as Eliot looked around the room, studying it, he caught glimpses. A hoodie draped across a chair. Some nerdy posters tucked in corners. The books stacked precariously on the coffee table, a half-empty chipped mug next to them, right next to the coaster like he’d missed it.</p><p>He could picture it—Quentin, hunched over a book, sitting cross-legged on the couch and chewing on his thumbnail. His forgotten coffee getting cold, too engrossed in whatever story was captivating him to think of it.</p><p>His mind supplied the memory—</p><p>
  <em>Eliot, walking into the Physical Cottage when he and Quentin were still just becoming friends, letting out a little laugh as he noticed, casting a quick charm to make Quentin’s coffee hot again—</em>
</p><p>“What’s with the cane?” Sebastian’s voice brought him back to the present.</p><p>Eliot glanced down. “Oh—well, that’s. Kind of a long story.”</p><p>What an understatement.</p><p>“I love long stories,” Quentin said. He took Eliot’s hand and pulled him over to the couch. He sat down so that his knees were nearly on top of Eliot’s thigh.</p><p>Eliot glanced towards the door, a little longingly, wondering if it was too late to back out. Something about having Quentin this close, asking questions, something about his voice not quite sounding like his own—</p><p>Eliot was getting some version of that <em>too much </em>feeling he’d gotten the night of the party.</p><p>“Um,” he started.</p><p>It felt important, for some reason, that he not lie. He’d promised himself he’d be honest with Quentin once he was back in the real world. But how the <em>hell </em>was he supposed to explain why he needed a cane? He couldn’t very well get into all the details of the possession with not-Quentin. And he was blanking on any way to spin the truth so it didn’t sound <em>completely insane. </em></p><p>“I mean, you don’t <em>have </em>to tell me,” Quentin said. He shifted closer. “If you’d rather we do something else.”</p><p>Eliot was pretty sure he was going to die here.</p><p>“It’s hard to know where to start,” Eliot said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. He met Quentin’s eyes and smiled a little. “It’s been… Well, I guess I could just say that I’ve had a real hell of a year, actually.”</p><p>Quentin leaned away slightly, the flirtatious quirk of his lips fading a little. He blinked, a sober earnestness in his expression.</p><p>“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.</p><p>The softness in his tone—</p><p>
  <em>Too much, already too much—</em>
</p><p>Eliot cleared his throat and glanced away. He managed to sort himself into some level of composure before looking back, with a small shrug and an easy-adjacent smile. “It was harder on others than it was on me,” he said honestly.</p><p>He didn’t remember much of it. Which came with its own issues. But from what he knew, Quentin was the one who ended up suffering the most.</p><p>The notion caught in his mind that maybe Quentin was better off in this new identity. Maybe whoever had chosen to erase him and give him this new life, where he didn’t have to drown in all the bullshit he’d been put through… Well, maybe they’d done him a favor.</p><p>Eliot wanted to tell himself that he was being ridiculous, that the idea was nonsense—it would never be <em>better </em>to live a fake life. And Quentin would never choose to run away into some fabricated reality.</p><p>Eliot wanted to believe that he was doing the right thing, trying to find a way to get Quentin back.</p><p>But the thought was nagging at him—</p><p>
  <em>Wasn’t this easier? Wasn’t this less painful? Would it really be so bad—</em>
</p><p>He shook his head to try to get the idea away.</p><p>
  <em>You’re being selfish, trying to get him back instead of letting him settle into this life—</em>
</p><p>Okay, that one was worse.</p><p>“You okay?” Quentin asked.</p><p>“Sebastian, are you happy?” Eliot blurted out before he could think better of it.</p><p>Quentin looked startled, but Eliot didn’t back down from the question. He met Quentin’s gaze, resisting the urge to turn away, to close his eyes. He studied Quentin’s reaction, seeing the unconcealed confusion and complicated mix of emotion.</p><p>“Where did that come from?” Quentin replied, letting out a breath of laughter, his lips twitching up in a forced smile before it faltered again.</p><p>“I just—” Eliot sighed, trying to smile. “I don’t know. I guess I… I’d just like to know?”</p><p>“Are <em>you?” </em>Quentin replied, not quite accusatory so much as challenging.</p><p>“No,” Eliot said without really thinking about it. He paused, giving it a little more consideration. “I’d… like to be. I’m trying to be.”</p><p>“Oh,” Quentin said softly. He offered a small smile. “Huh. An honest answer.”</p><p>Eliot returned the smile, genuinely. “I’ve been working on my honesty.”</p><p>“How’s that been going for you?”</p><p>“It depends on the day.”</p><p>Quentin seemed to relax into the couch a little more, some pieces of the façade cracking and falling away. Eliot wanted to reach over and brush the hair out of his eyes, but he kept still.</p><p>“I don’t know if I’m happy,” Quentin said. He looked down at his hands, like he expected something to be there. He frowned a little. Eliot recognized that worried crease, the tension around his eyes. “Sometimes I feel like… there’s something missing. Like I’ve forgotten something, left behind some magic piece of me that’ll fix whatever’s wrong.”</p><p>Eliot stared, feeling like his heart was trying to climb up his throat. He had to blink a few times to avoid the sting of the tears that were threatening to well up.</p><p>God, he wanted Quentin back so much he could hardly breathe.</p><p>Quentin glanced over, a sheepish smile on his face. He pressed his palms together, shifting like he wanted to hide his hands. “I sound crazy, don’t I?” he said. He wrinkled his nose. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, um…”</p><p>“No, I get it,” Eliot said softly. “I understand.”</p><p>There was a long beat of silence, and Eliot had this small spark of hope as their eyes connected that Quentin’s memories would just flood back right then and there. It wasn’t exactly a reasonable feeling—that wasn’t how magic or spells worked. But for a moment, Eliot really believed it could be possible.</p><p>Something corny like how love could conquer anything.</p><p>Quentin cleared his throat and shook his head a little, like he was brushing off the magnetic pull.</p><p>“Okay, you asked a heavy question, my turn,” he said brightly.</p><p>Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re doing now?”</p><p>“Tell me something I wouldn’t be able to guess about you,” Quentin said.</p><p>Eliot laughed a little. It was strange—almost anything he could tell <em>Sebastian </em>was something that Quentin already knew. After fifty years of memories together, you get to know a lot about a person. Even if those memories weren’t, well… Yours. Strictly speaking.</p><p>They were real enough. Sometimes, the memories from the mosaic felt more real than anything else.</p><p>They certainly felt more real than Quentin dying ever had.</p><p>“That’s not quite fair—I don’t know what you <em>would </em>guess about me,” Eliot replied.</p><p>Quentin laughed. “Alright, then tell me something you wouldn’t normally admit.”</p><p><em>I’m in love with you </em>was the first thought that came to mind.</p><p>Eliot reached forward, indulging himself and brushing Quentin’s hair back gently. Imagining, for a moment, that they were in the throne room again, and he could rewrite history. Imagining that he could relive that moment and say something different.</p><p>“Hm. Something I wouldn’t normally admit,” Eliot said thoughtfully. “I suppose I don’t typically admit how much I like someone.”</p><p>Quentin smiled, leaning forward slightly. “What, are you saying you have a crush on me?” he teased softly. “I could’ve guessed that one.”</p><p>Eliot forced out a small laugh.</p><p>He wondered, a little, what it would’ve been like if he and Quentin had a normal story. If he’d just asked Quentin out when he first came to Brakebills, if they went on dates and went to parties and flirted. He wondered if it ever could’ve been simple between them.</p><p>Well. It didn’t really matter what could’ve been. This was what they had: a tangled mess of timelines and monsters and feelings that could fill a throne room.</p><p>Honestly, sitting here, in this taste of what might’ve been, Eliot didn’t think he’d trade what they had together for anything.</p><p> </p><p>Eliot was stretched out on the floor at Julia’s place. It had been a few days since he’d even seen Margo or 23. Honestly, it seemed like they might be avoiding Eliot and Julia as much as Eliot and Julia were avoiding them. Which was, truly, fine by Eliot.</p><p>He and Margo could make up and talk once he’d gotten Quentin back and proven that all of this hadn’t been for nothing.</p><p>Of course, they had to actually figure out how to get Quentin back, and they’d been running into some issues with that.</p><p>Trying to track down who had cast the damn spell in the first place.</p><p>Julia let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a laugh, which caught Eliot’s attention. He hadn’t been focusing all that hard on the book Julia had shoved at him and told him to read through anyway.</p><p>“I’ve—” Julia smiled bitterly. “Well, I’ve figured out what’s wrong.”</p><p>Eliot raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”</p><p>“So trying to figure out who cast the spell—” She sighed. “It’s been weird, because I’ve been looking through location-based methods and they keep… Not working. Because the person who cast this spell isn’t on Earth.”</p><p>Well, that didn’t sound enormously promising.</p><p>“Okay,” Eliot said slowly. “So, what, are we looking at Fillory? Because Fillory is locked. So.”</p><p>“I don’t know, maybe,” Julia said. She groaned, leaning forward. “If it was Fillory, though, I’d at least be getting <em>consistent </em>weird answers. But the spells keep telling me impossible places, not just inaccessible places.”</p><p>“Let’s think this through. What could that mean?” Eliot leaned forward, watching Julia as her mind worked through it. She would’ve been, truly, such a remarkable student at Brakebills. Eliot sort of regretted that they couldn’t have just met as friends in a class, where he could’ve made fun of her for being a nerd and she could’ve dragged him into studying with her. It would’ve been nice.</p><p>“It could mean a lot of things, I guess. Places that we’ve never heard of, even, places we might not be able to wrap our minds around.” She tapped a pen against the page she’d been looking at—a footnote in a chapter about the Old Gods, more or less amounting to how little anyone knew or could ever know about them.</p><p>“If it’s somewhere we have no connection to, though, why would they care about Quentin?” Eliot pointed out. He sighed, pulling the book out from under her arm and closing it. “The Old Gods wouldn’t waste their time, right? Not on one human. He wouldn’t be on their radar.”</p><p>“Probably not,” Julia admitted. She glanced over at the book, a little wistfully, like she just wanted to get back to spiraling down that rabbit hole. “I think I need a break. Some air.”</p><p>“Forget the Old Gods for a second,” Eliot said. “Let’s go back to Fillory. Think about places we actually have connections to.”</p><p>“Well, Fillory has complications with time, not with <em>space. </em>So the place we’re looking for, it would be… I don’t know. Untethered to a fixed point? Sort of like if Fillory was even weirder.”</p><p>“Huh,” Eliot said. “Not a fixed point in time or space. The Underworld?”</p><p>“What, Penny 40 decided to pull a prank?” Julia snorted.</p><p>Eliot shrugged. “I’m sure he gets bored down there.”</p><p>“Maybe… The Neitherlands…” Julia said, her voice distant, frowning down at her hands.</p><p>“Julia, the Library,” Eliot said suddenly.</p><p>There was a brief silence before Julia actually let out a small, sudden laugh.</p><p>“The <em>Library,” </em>she repeated. “God, we should’ve gotten that sooner.”</p><p>“Should we call Alice?” Eliot said, not particularly warm to the concept.</p><p>“Or Kady,” Julia replied, sounding even more reluctant.</p><p>Eliot took a breath. “They haven’t been answering calls. Margo gave up trying to get ahold of them ages ago.”</p><p>“Guess I have to talk to 23,” Julia said.</p><p>Well, they couldn’t avoid each other forever.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. like it's easy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Look, there are just some things I glossed over and didn't fact check. This is what we're dealing with.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh <em>hell </em>no,” Penny snapped. He put a hand up, trying to get Julia to just <em>stop </em>because he was beyond tired of all of this.</p><p>“Come on, please, we need you—” Julia went on. She took a step towards him and he took a step back.</p><p>Margo let out a long, thin sigh, looking up at the ceiling. “So much for taking it easy on drinking. Penny, what’ll you have?”</p><p>“Something strong,” he said. He turned back to Julia, his jaw clenched and his breathing unsteady. He couldn’t stop Julia and Eliot from getting caught up in this, but he could sure as hell avoid him and Margo getting dragged into it, too.</p><p>“Look, we know you don’t believe us—” Eliot tried.</p><p>“Why wouldn’t we believe you?” Penny said sharply. “You’re just trying to claim that some random stranger is our dead friend, and our <em>other </em>friends are somehow involved. What a completely normal thing to suggest.”</p><p>“Okay, <em>sure, </em>you’re right, guy who can teleport and came here from another timeline,” Julia said, crossing her arms.</p><p>Penny let out a groan of frustration. Yeah, okay, everything about their existence was unbelievable, but since when had it ever been unbelievable in a way that worked out in their favor? It was all worst-case scenarios, no miracles. He didn’t want Quentin to be dead either, but he’d <em>seen </em>it. And hope hurt more than accepting it did.</p><p>“Okay, even <em>if </em>I was down to help you—which, by the way, I’m still not—you guys know that we haven’t been able to get ahold of Alice or Kady in weeks, right?” Penny replied. “It’s not like we haven’t tried.”</p><p>Julia took a breath. “Look, we know that they’re in the Library, if you could just—”</p><p>“Travel there?” Penny finished for her. “Do you, like, <em>get </em>how traveling works? I don’t even know if I’d be able to get there, for one thing—”</p><p>“And for another, it’s <em>dangerous,” </em>Margo interjected. “The Neitherlands is fucked, so’s the Library, and we don’t know what’s happening there.”</p><p>Penny gestured towards her to signal his agreement and took the glass of whiskey she was holding out for him.</p><p>“Are you really asking Penny to risk his life for this?” Margo asked, her tone challenging.</p><p>Eliot straightened up, standing tall. “Yes, and I understand what that means.” He turned his gaze to Penny steadily. “Listen, we don’t know each other that well, I get that. I didn’t know Penny 40 all that well either. But I know that Quentin, for all his conflict with Penny 40, <em>always</em> trusted that he would help when it mattered. Quentin <em>trusted </em>him to do the right thing.”</p><p>Penny clenched his jaw. He didn’t <em>love </em>Penny 40 being used against him, and he didn’t love Quentin being used against him either. It wasn’t exactly fair.</p><p>None of this was fair.</p><p>“You haven’t given a solid argument why <em>this </em>is the right thing, why this is the best thing we can do right now,” Penny replied, his voice tight.</p><p>“It’s for Q,” Julia said quietly.</p><p>“It <em>isn’t, </em>it’s for you,” Penny shot back. “I watched Q die—I don’t know who you guys have been talking to, but it’s not him.”</p><p>“So prove us wrong, and we’ll drop it,” Eliot replied.</p><p>“I doubt that,” Margo muttered.</p><p>“We <em>will,” </em>Eliot said. He took a breath and a step towards her, looking like he was steeling himself. She gave him a skeptical glance. “Bambi, I promise. If you can find a way to <em>prove </em>that Sebastian isn’t Quentin under an identity spell, I will write you the longest apology letter known to man and I’ll start going to grief counseling immediately.”</p><p>“I know you guys think we’re crazy,” Julia said, her voice bordering on pleading. “But on the off chance that we’re not, whoever cast the identity spell is in the Library. If we can get to them, we can get Q back.”</p><p>“Isn’t it worth it?” Eliot said. “Isn’t <em>any </em>chance worth it?”</p><p>Penny sighed. Just what was he supposed to do here?</p><p>Well, he knew what he was supposed to do. Didn’t mean he liked it.</p><p>Because, yeah, <em>fuck</em>, okay. Whatever. Any chance of Quentin being alive was worth it, was worth <em>any </em>risk Penny could take, even if it was the longest shot Penny could think of. Even if it felt like it was a complete lost cause, even if the odds were pretty damn overwhelming that Eliot and Julia had just lost it. It was worth it, it had to be. If there was a <em>shadow </em>of a possibility that Eliot and Julia were right about this one, it was worth it. Of <em>course</em> it was worth it.</p><p>Because it was Quentin.</p><p>Penny let out a heavy sigh.</p><p>“You’re considering this?” Margo said, turning sharply to look at him.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he said, mostly just for her to hear. Not quiet enough to keep it from Julia and Eliot, though. “Maybe. If they’re right…”</p><p>Margo’s jaw clenched.</p><p>And Penny could see it already.</p><p>She wasn’t going to argue with him, because she agreed.</p><p>It was worth the risk.</p><p>Well. There it was, then.</p><p> </p><p>Sebastian called.</p><p>He sounded strange on the phone—like he’d been drinking, maybe. Eliot tried not to freak out about it. But then Sebastian had asked him to come over, and his <em>voice </em>when he asked—</p><p>So maybe Eliot had started freaking out. A little bit. They were still waiting on Penny.</p><p>It had been, like, less than a day, but that still meant that he and Julia had been restless and antsy and pacing enough that Margo had snapped at them and made them both chamomile tea.</p><p>The tea was atrocious. Watching Margo try to <em>make </em>it, however, was just entertaining enough to distract from all the stress.</p><p><em>I’m a coffee and cocktail person! </em>Margo had said, with a wide, irritated hand gesture when Eliot had coughed trying to take the first sip of the chamomile tea she had, <em>somehow, </em>made bitter. Eliot and Julia had both had to stifle laughter as they exchanged glances, but neither of them were particularly subtle about it.</p><p>It had been… nice. A nice change of pace. It was reassuring to have an interaction with Margo that didn’t end in either one of them storming off. It was <em>good, </em>to have that kind of mundane, warm interaction between friends, as though their world hadn’t fallen to pieces and then been rebuilt in this crooked, incomplete mess.</p><p>It felt, a little bit, like things could be okay.</p><p>And then Sebastian had called.</p><p>Eliot had managed to slip away with nonchalant enough excuses about why he was going to see Quentin all of a sudden, and it didn’t really seem like it had set off any alarm bells for Margo or Julia. Which was good. They had enough to worry about as it was, and Sebastian had called <em>him. </em></p><p>He didn’t linger in front of the door this time. He just knocked.</p><p>It took a few long, lingering moments for Quentin to come to the door.</p><p>He swayed, smiling an unsteady, flickering smile at Eliot.</p><p>“You came,” Quentin said, softly.</p><p>“Of course I did,” Eliot replied. “I told you I would be here.”</p><p>Quentin stepped to the side to let him in, stumbling just a little and laughing.</p><p>“I just… wasn’t sure you would come,” Quentin said as he closed the door behind them.</p><p>Eliot glanced at him, uncertain. “Why wouldn’t I have?”</p><p>“Because no one ever does.”</p><p>He said it in this constructed, matter-of-fact tone—just too strained to be flippant. It sounded breakable.</p><p>Eliot knew the feeling.</p><p>“I always will,” he replied, trying not to make it sound like too much. Like it was simple, like it was easy.</p><p>Quentin smiled a little at him, a glassy look of bittersweet doubt in his eyes. “Yeah, well. We’ll see about that,” he said, his tone something like teasing.</p><p>Eliot avoided getting caught up in the emotional reaction of all <em>that. </em>He was there for a reason. He’d been called there <em>for a reason. </em>He couldn’t get trapped in that vast, drowning feeling. It would just bury him under the memories of all the times he’d let Quentin down before. </p><p>He led Quentin over to the couch, keeping an eye on the way he was still swaying a little.</p><p>“So what did you need?” he asked gently as they sat together.</p><p>Quentin tilted his head, unfocused. “I don’t really know,” he said. “You, I guess.”</p><p>There was too much in <em>that </em>for Eliot to let himself feel it. His lips twitched up in the slightest smile, uncertain, unsteady, just barely hopeful.</p><p>Eliot studied Quentin’s face, not quite sure what he was looking for.</p><p>Quentin’s eyes fluttered closed, a slight crease appearing between his brows. “I keep having these dreams…” he said softly, his voice seeming to trail off into the air.</p><p>Eliot waited for a moment, but it didn’t seem like Quentin was going to elaborate.</p><p>“Dreams?” he prompted gently after a long moment, nudging Quentin’s leg.</p><p>Quentin opened his eyes again, looking right at Eliot. And Eliot held his breath—because those were <em>Quentin’s </em>eyes, that was <em>Quentin </em>looking at him, not a trace of Sebastian left, and Eliot felt dizzy, like the room was spinning, like the walls were going to collapse around them at any moment.</p><p>“Yeah,” Quentin said. <em>His voice, his voice… </em>“Dreams where… I—I, um, I actually don’t really know. You’re in them, though. I… I think. I think I saw you there. You—”</p><p>A picture frame fell off the wall, clattering to the floor, the glass shattering. They both jumped at the noise, and it wasn’t until they’d flinched away from one another that Eliot really registered how close they’d started to lean in.</p><p>“Shit,” Quentin sighed. And there was Sebastian again, in the tension in his jaw, in the arch of his eyebrow, in the careless, apologetic smile he tossed Eliot’s way.</p><p>For a moment, it was like losing Quentin all over again, and Eliot felt like they’d never be able to reach him.</p><p>Quentin started to stand up, but Eliot grabbed his wrist.</p><p>“Leave it,” he said. “Tipsy is not the best state in which to clean up broken glass, in my experience.”</p><p>“Fair point,” Quentin replied, letting himself get pulled back down.</p><p>Eliot didn’t take his hand off of Quentin’s wrist. Quentin glanced down, noticing, but he didn’t say anything about it. Eliot wouldn’t have known how to respond if he had.</p><p>“You were saying something about your dreams?” Eliot said.</p><p>Quentin frowned a little. “I don’t remember them, really.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“It’s more like… a feeling. I have remnants of the feelings from them. Or… something.” Quentin shook his head, half smiling. “It sounds weird when I say it out loud.”</p><p>“Trust me, I’ve heard weirder.”</p><p>“I’m not sure I’m myself in these dreams… It’s hard to explain.”</p><p>Eliot’s heart beat harder. He tried not to let it show. He tried to keep his hands steady.</p><p>“Oh? Who are you in them, then?” he asked, as casually as he could manage.</p><p>Quentin smiled at him, a bright, tipsy smile that managed to reach his eyes. “Still trying to figure that out, but I guess that’s true when I’m awake, too.”</p><p>Eliot smiled a little back, warmed with affection.</p><p>“We’re all just an amalgamation of the people we once were and the people we might be, I think,” Eliot replied. Thinking, just a little bit, of that long, happy life that he’d never led. Echoes of what could’ve been.</p><p>And the promise of what still could be, in the possibility that seemed close enough to touch sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>Everett hadn’t been working alone at the Library, when he showed up in the mirror world to steal back the Monster. The ritual he’d been planning on recreating had the potential to turn four people into gods, and there were enough people that figured the proximity to gods was a good enough reason to sell their souls.</p><p>Alice had been deep into working for the Library since that same week. She’d shown up after Zelda called her, waxing poetic about how much it would mean to her to help change the Library for the better. Her cover, for the most part, had been that she was trying to improve relations with the hedge witches. Which gave Kady an excuse to be there as often as she was.</p><p>The most complicated part was keeping it from Zelda—Zelda, who was so earnestly hopeful that the Library could get better, who really seemed to believe that Everett had been the main source of the issues within the place. She trusted damn near everyone there, which was the problem.</p><p>Alice knew they couldn’t trust anyone there, not if they were going to find the three other people that Everett had been working with, not it they were going to get the rest of the people on his side out of the woodwork.</p><p>At a certain point, Alice almost thought that it would be better to destroy and abandon the Library in its entirety and rebuild it from the ground up. There was such a tangled web of rules and bureaucracy, so much corruption in the roots of the place that it could’ve been a hopeless cause.  </p><p>These people, they’d killed countless hedge witches. They’d let Penny 40 die when they had a cure for him from the beginning. They’d controlled magic like it belonged to them, they’d hoarded knowledge and resources, they’d manipulated Alice and Kady both, they’d locked up people who hadn’t deserved it.</p><p>In the end, the Library had too much value within it to destroy. The knowledge they’d collected was important, and Alice wasn’t planning on losing it all.</p><p>If Zelda hadn’t been so intent on trying to work within the system to make it better, Alice thought that they might’ve been able to figure out another way. But there were Librarians who were after her friends, who were after power, who’d constructed the rules themselves so that they knew how to keep safe from any fallout.</p><p>Meaningful change with the Library the way that it was would be impossible.</p><p>The build-up was slow, setting the dominoes up with care to cover their bases in the aftermath.</p><p>All in all, it could’ve gone much worse, Alice figured.</p><p>They did it, in the end. Weeks of time and effort and planning and arranging.</p><p>And they overthrew the Library, with the help of Kady’s hedge witch allies.</p><p>Casualties were minimal, and the look of betrayal on Zelda’s face wasn’t enough to make Alice regret what they’d done. It was what needed to happen. The Library couldn’t be left alone to build up power again, to create more Everetts, to hunt down Quentin for revenge and the rest of the people Alice cared about for good measure.</p><p>Alice and Kady were in what was formerly Zelda’s office, sorting through next steps now that they’d gotten past the worst of it, when Penny 23 appeared.</p><p>“Oh, cool, you guys aren’t dead,” he said, tone flat and unimpressed.</p><p>Alice exchanged a look with Kady.</p><p>“We’ve been busy,” Kady replied, just a little coldly.</p><p>Alice knew the feeling. She wasn’t exactly ready to deal with complaints and criticism from their friends for the way they’d vanished after all the work they’d just done. While Penny and the rest of them had been doing whatever in New York, Alice and Kady had been spending sleepless nights trying to fix something immensely broken.</p><p>“What do you want, Penny?” Alice said, tired and impatient and maybe a little on edge.</p><p>“I need to you come with me,” Penny replied.</p><p>Alice sighed.</p><p>Well, might as well get it out of the way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. the right direction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>uhhh second to last chapter, probably</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Julia had been passing the time by preparing a charm to catch whoever had cast the identity spell on Quentin.</p>
<p>She’d texted Eliot asking him to get a hair from Quentin for it, which had been, well, a <em>little </em>weird for Eliot but he’d managed to arrange it without any complications. Really, at a certain point, he’d had a tipsy Sebastian lying with his head in Eliot’s lap, so Eliot just ran his fingers through his hair as though he had no ulterior motives about it.</p>
<p>Eliot idly watched her as she worked. She was using a compass—it was her own simple homebrew. If she managed to figure it out (which, Eliot was sure, she always did) the compass would point in the direction of whoever cast the spell.</p>
<p>The plan was thin, but it wasn’t nothing. Just: get Alice and Kady here, find out what they knew, then go back to the Library to catch whoever was responsible for the identity spell. Whoever cast the spell could remove it relatively easily.</p>
<p>Eliot was impatient. Time worked weird in the Neitherlands and the Library—so Penny had been gone a few days, on their end. It had probably been no more than a couple hours for him. Lucky bastard got to skip all the waiting.</p>
<p>Okay, that wasn’t entirely fair, he was the one doing the work to get Alice and Kady here. But Eliot was just getting antsy. He’d seen Sebastian a couple more times and each time made his heart feel like it was cracking open just a little bit more.</p>
<p>Quentin was so clearly in there somewhere, and so <em>clearly </em>trying to find his way back. Because, of course, Quentin was never the type to give up when things seemed impossible. Even if he didn’t know who he was right now, nothing could take that away from him.</p>
<p>Eliot wanted him back so much it ached. He could feel Quentin’s absence bone-deep.</p>
<p>“I think I have it,” Julia said.</p>
<p>“Oh?” Eliot replied, leaning up a little to look over. The arrow on the compass was spinning.</p>
<p>“Yeah, let’s say almost completely sure,” she said.</p>
<p>“Great,” he said. He stifled a sigh. “Now to wait.”</p>
<p>“I hate waiting.”</p>
<p>“You and me both.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a couple hours later that Penny got back. Eliot and Julia sitting together on the couch, Margo pacing the length of the room, feeling each second drag by. When Penny finally appeared with Alice and Kady, it was like the whole room let out a collective breath.</p>
<p>Eliot straightened up immediately, his heart beating hard with the anticipation. Alice and Kady both looked beyond drained, and Penny looked vaguely irritated, but they were <em>here </em>and that was what mattered.</p>
<p>“Good,” Eliot said, a little breathless. “Good, okay.”</p>
<p>“Alright, now that we’ve got Alice and Kady here, how do we find the person who cast the spell?” Penny said.</p>
<p>“No need,” Julia said, her tone flat. When Eliot looked at her, he saw that she had paled, her face had gone slack. She was clutching the charmed compass in her hand. “We have our answer.”</p>
<p>“Julia?” Eliot said, putting a hand to her arm.</p>
<p>“It was Alice.”</p>
<p>The collective breath they’d all let out felt like it was sucked out of the room, along with the rest of the air.</p>
<p>It took a long moment for Eliot to process what Julia said. He had to glance down at the compass to confirm it, and sure enough, the arrow was pointed right at Alice, glowing slightly in Julia’s palm.</p>
<p>Eliot looked at Alice, half-expecting some denial, or at least some confusion, but she just pressed her lips together and took a breath. Meeting Julia’s gaze with force.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, fucking <em>what?” </em>Margo said, putting a hand up. It shook slightly in the air, and Eliot could see realizations and emotions crossing her expression in a complicated mess.</p>
<p>“The good news is that it’s over now,” Alice said, keeping her voice steady. “The Library is under control. He’s not in danger anymore.”</p>
<p>“He’s… So—he <em>is </em>alive?” Penny said.</p>
<p>The whole room fell silent for a frozen moment. Eliot felt himself unraveling. He had a half-hysterical impulse to start laughing—another part of him was ready to collapse to the floor in exhausted, abject relief.</p>
<p>He got to his feet, feeling unsteady—a little dizzy, like the walls were warping around them.</p>
<p>“Alice…” he said softly, a low, dangerous edge in his voice.</p>
<p>“He’s alive,” Alice confirmed to Penny.</p>
<p>“So, what, you… You just <em>let </em>us believe he was dead?” Eliot said, feeling more betrayed now than he had with the keys.</p>
<p>“Hey, I am <em>not </em>the bad guy here,” Alice said, crossing her arms. She rained her chin defiantly.</p>
<p>“Like hell you aren’t,” Margo snapped. She looked halfway between breaking something and crying, and she wouldn’t look at Eliot.</p>
<p>Alice glared. “The Library was <em>after </em>him. He killed Everett—do you think there would be no consequences for that? We couldn’t just… We had to fix it, and this was the best way to protect him.”</p>
<p>“We?” Julia echoed. She looked towards Kady. “You were in on this?”</p>
<p>Kady looked uncomfortable, but not sorry. “Parts of it. I’m sorry, Julia. We needed all of you to believe he was gone, so the Library would too.”</p>
<p>The hurt on Julia’s face was open and bare, like she couldn’t even begin to hide it.</p>
<p>Eliot, meanwhile, was just holding back how much he was <em>seething. </em></p>
<p>“I don’t <em>believe </em>you,” he directed at Alice, his tone harsh and unforgiving. “I mean, <em>honestly, </em>how selfish—”</p>
<p>“Selfish?” Alice scoffed. “I saved his <em>life.” </em></p>
<p>“And then you dropped him in some fake life, where he was <em>alone </em>and lost, and you left us to grieve him for <em>months.” </em></p>
<p>“I still don’t—” Penny started, taking a step away from all of them. He shook his head. “I <em>saw </em>him—Alice, I was there, I saw him die, I don’t—”</p>
<p>“You saw him get hurt,” she replied. Her tone had softened slightly.</p>
<p>“He was <em>gone. </em>There was nothing left of him.” </p>
<p>“Illusion magic and portals,” Kady said. “We got him out of the mirror world before anything could really happen.”</p>
<p>“You could’ve told us,” Julia said. She was quiet, her arms crossed over her chest, barely looking up at them. “We could’ve helped.”</p>
<p>Kady spread her arm in a frustrated gesture. “I don’t know, maybe! But we couldn’t <em>know </em>that, and what <em>mattered </em>was keeping Quentin safe so that we could get to the Library before they got to him. Or to the rest of us.”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to apologize for saving his life,” Alice said, her tone tight. “I’m sorry you guys had to grieve him, but we did what we needed to do. And it’s <em>over</em> now.”</p>
<p>“What the <em>fuck—” </em>Margo started, taking a step towards Alice, the anger radiating off of her.</p>
<p>Eliot raised a hand. “Don’t. Just… don’t. We can deal with all of <em>this </em>later.” He turned to Alice. “You need to break the spell.”</p>
<p>“Like I said, he’s safe now. Just get him here and I will.”</p>
<p>“Penny—”</p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah, magic Uber, I fucking got it,” Penny muttered.</p>
<p>He disappeared, and he came back moments later, Quentin/Sebastian’s arm clutched in his hand.</p>
<p>“What the—” Quentin started.</p>
<p>Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose. “<em>Now, </em>Alice, before he registers what’s happening.”</p>
<p>“Eliot?” Quentin looked over at him, a startled, wide-eyed gaze, and Eliot’s chest tightened.</p>
<p><em>Bye, Sebastian, </em>he thought, trying to offer a smile and missing the mark. It was strange—to have gotten to know someone, even just a little bit, who didn’t really exist. To have seen glimpses of the reality of who he was underneath that fictional mask.</p>
<p>Before Eliot could really look at Sebastian for a last time, Alice had cast the spell.</p>
<p>Quentin made a pained noise, stumbling backwards and clutching his head. Eliot started to move towards him automatically, but Julia stilled him, her hand against his arm. He swallowed hard, finding it a little dizzying to watch as Quentin/Sebastian seemed to be splitting.</p>
<p>For one frozen moment, Eliot saw what Margo must’ve seen, what Penny must’ve seen. This unfamiliar face, a stranger, who only looked like Quentin if you were barely glancing. Eliot told himself he needed to apologize to Margo later—if he’d seen what she had, he would’ve thought he was crazy, too.</p>
<p>Then Quentin fell to his knees, and everything was silent, save for his heavy panting.</p>
<p>Eliot was holding his breath, frozen in place, trying not to blink in case he vanished.</p>
<p>Julia was the first one to move.</p>
<p>“Q?” she said softly, taking a small step forward.</p>
<p>Quentin was still hunched on his knees, his palms pressed to the floor, hanging his head. At her voice, he started to move to look up, but he winced again. He sat back, leaning up so he was sitting on his knees, and he pressed the heel of his palm to his eye.</p>
<p>“Jules?” he mumbled.</p>
<p>The breath she let out was half broken laughter, half relieved sigh. She rushed over, falling to the ground next to him, and she threw her arms around him.</p>
<p>“Oh, uh—hey,” Quentin replied. He put an arm around her, hugging her back stiffly. He looked disoriented, like the room might be spinning for him.</p>
<p>“Q, you’re back, oh my god,” she said, her voice trembling and cracking like she was crying.</p>
<p>The rest of the room was still, and Eliot felt like he couldn’t move.</p>
<p>Alice stepped forward, flicking her hair back and lifting her chin. “Okay, now that we’ve gotten that done—Julia, let’s get him somewhere he can lie down and we can deal with any lingering effects.”</p>
<p>Julia pulled back, keeping a hand on Quentin’s shoulder. “We can use my room, here—”</p>
<p>As Alice and Julia helped Quentin up and led him down the hall, Eliot kept his eyes glued to the floor. He could practically feel the heat of Quentin’s gaze on him, but he couldn’t make himself meet it.</p>
<p>Julia’s bedroom door shut behind them with a <em>click. </em></p>
<p>Eliot basically collapsed back onto the couch, exhausted and undone. Quentin was back—he was <em>right there, </em>and Eliot had no idea what to do anymore. All that waiting, for a whirlwind of emotions, and Eliot just need the world to <em>stop </em>for a minute.</p>
<p>As he stared at the floor, trying to catch his breath, he was aware of Margo inching over to him.</p>
<p>She sat down next to him carefully, like she was trying not to be noticed. It was strange, coming from her.</p>
<p>“Eliot, I—” Margo started, her voice soft.</p>
<p>“Me too, Bambi,” Eliot replied. He looked up, meeting her gaze, and she looked relieved right away. He smiled at her, looping an arm around her shoulder and leaning over to kiss her forehead. “It’s alright.”</p>
<p>“If I’d known—”</p>
<p>“I get it. I saw—” He cleared his throat. “I saw what you saw.”</p>
<p>“Holy fucking shit,” Penny said, which just about summed it up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Julia couldn’t take her eyes off of Quentin’s face. Her anger at Alice was fully put on the backburner as Alice walked her through a couple of minor spells, just to make sure Quentin wasn’t dealing with any lingering side effects of the spell. It was the kind that took a toll on someone in the best of circumstances.</p>
<p>Quentin was stretched out on her bed, one hand pressed to his forehead, his eyes closed. His breathing was shaky, but he seemed okay otherwise. He was passed out cold, and Alice seemed to think it’d be a few hours before he was fully conscious and aware.</p>
<p>Alice was all business, her lips pressed together, a tightness around her eyes.</p>
<p>“Right,” Alice said stiffly after they went through the spells together. “Well. I should be getting back to the Library with Kady. We still have a lot to do, so—”</p>
<p>“Are you serious?” Julia said, incredulous.</p>
<p>Alice let out a short, annoyed sigh.</p>
<p>“I have no <em>interest </em>staying around here and fighting with all of you. I don’t regret what I did, <em>especially </em>not now, since it worked. If you’re all waiting for the sequel to my apology tour, it’s not coming.” Her tone was brusque and decisive, like she’d given it enough thought and she was fully beyond mulling over her conclusions.</p>
<p>Julia felt two things in equal measure: anger and understanding.</p>
<p>She knew, from back when she had transferred her power to Alice, both of them ignoring all the risks of it, that they were alike in a lot of ways. Julia couldn’t help but understand the stubbornness that came with knowing, urgently, that you were doing the right thing, damn the consequences. She’d hurt people that way before, too.</p>
<p>But the fact that she knew where Alice was coming from didn’t mean she felt any better about being a pawn in a greater scheme she’d known nothing about. Knowing why Alice did what she did wasn’t going to erase the months of Julia’s life she’d lost to obsessive researching and feeling like she’d never be okay again.</p>
<p>“You have a habit of making decisions without caring how it affects everyone else,” Julia said, trying to keep her tone even.</p>
<p>Alice crossed her arms over her chest. “I do care.”</p>
<p>“Funny way of showing it.”</p>
<p>“It was to protect him.” Alice sighed, rubbing at her temple. Julia noticed just how exhausted she really looked. “Maybe there was a better way, but I was working with limited time and resources. I did the best I could. At least he’s alive, alright?”</p>
<p>“I don’t forgive you,” Julia said.</p>
<p>“I’m not <em>asking </em>you to,” Alice snapped back. “Hate me for all I care. He’s <em>alive, </em>so it was worth it.”</p>
<p>Julia clenched her jaw, not quite sure how to say this. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t disappear again.”</p>
<p>Alice’s defensive glare faded. “What?” she said.</p>
<p>Julia let out a soft sigh. “We lost Quentin, and then we lost you and Kady, and it was all at once. You don’t have to—” Julia closed her eyes and swallowed her pride. When she looked at Alice again, Alice’s head was tilted a little, her eyes wide. “Look. I’m mad at you. I’ll <em>be </em>mad at you for a while. I’ll probably be mad at Kady for longer. But that doesn’t mean—”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Alice said, her voice shrunk down like it didn’t belong to her anymore. “I, um… Yeah. Okay.”</p>
<p>Julia looked back at Quentin again. He looked younger as he slept, the worried creases around his eyes smoothed out. She thought about how devastating it had been, when she heard the news of his death. It had felt like the end of the world.</p>
<p>She’d never be able to find the words to express how relieved she was that she didn’t have to face a world without Quentin Coldwater anymore.</p>
<p>“He’s going to be okay?” she asked, her voice a little shaky.</p>
<p>“Yeah,” Alice replied gently. “After he rests, he should be fine.”</p>
<p>Julia bit back her own gratitude, still simmering with the complicated mess of anger under her skin.</p>
<p>“I won’t thank you for it,” she said.</p>
<p>There was a pause before Alice responded.</p>
<p>“Well, I won’t apologize, so I guess we’re even?”</p>
<p>Julia almost wanted to laugh. She moved towards Quentin, reaching down to brush the hair back from his forehead.</p>
<p>Alice cleared her throat. “I wasn’t lying, before. Kady and I, we really should be getting back to the Library. There’s still a lot to do there, so…”</p>
<p>“Right,” Julia said.</p>
<p>“We’ll, um. We’ll be back. To check in.” Alice’s words were stilted in a way that almost made Julia smile.</p>
<p>She looked up, meeting Alice’s gaze.</p>
<p>“Can you tell Kady…” She trailed off. What was there to say? Julia closed her eyes, trying to gather herself. It had been a long day. A long week. A long fucking year.</p>
<p>Julia so desperately wanted all of this tangled mess of hurt and anger to be in the past. She so desperately wanted to be able to know that her friends were going to be okay, that they were going to be in each other’s lives still, that they didn’t need to put everything between them on hold for whatever crisis was consuming their lives.</p>
<p>“I guess tell her I miss her,” Julia said softly. “Even though I’m too mad at her to deal with it right now.”</p>
<p>Alice studies Julia’s face for a moment. “You’ll get the chance to tell her yourself,” she said.</p>
<p>“Just—”</p>
<p>“Don’t worry. She knows.”</p>
<p>“We’re all going to be okay, right?” Julia asked. She couldn’t really explain why she was looking for reassurance from Alice. Maybe it was just that she knew Alice would never offer her empty platitudes.</p>
<p>“I really think we will,” Alice replied.</p>
<p>Which, Julia supposed, was enough for now.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. the promise that we'll be okay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And last chapter. <br/>cw for brief reference to suicide</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“It could’ve gone worse,” Alice said. It sounded like she was aiming for a gentle tone and had missed, falling somewhere in <em>tolerant impatience </em>instead.</p>
<p>Kady sighed. “I know.”</p>
<p>She didn’t regret what they did. There were a thousand ways they could’ve gone about protecting Quentin while they dealt with the Library situation, and they picked a way that turned out okay in the end. She understood why they were all mad at them now—Penny and Julia most of all.</p>
<p>She regretted that Penny had to have that memory of watching Quentin die. She regretted that she’d had to keep secrets from Julia.</p>
<p>But it was worth it for the end result—the Library was going to be better, Quentin was <em>alive, </em>everything was going to be okay now. They just needed a little time to let the heat settle.</p>
<p>“Julia won’t be mad at you forever,” Alice said, looking up from the papers she was sorting through.</p>
<p>They were trying to make the Library accessible, sorting through the convoluted mess of an organizational system that made it impossible. It was going to take a while, and in the meantime, trying to figure out where to start with it was bad enough.</p>
<p>Kady snorted. “Who knows? Julia’s stubborn enough.”</p>
<p>“She’s hurt. You guys’ll figure it out.” Alice let out a short breath. “You certainly always seem to.”</p>
<p>There was just a hint of bitterness in Alice’s tone.</p>
<p>“What, you jealous?” Kady replied, lightly teasing.</p>
<p>Alice smiled wryly. “Who, me? Never.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Margo was trying to give Eliot and Julia some space as they dealt with the aftermath, so she left. Or at least, that’s what she told herself. It was possible she was being the tiniest bit avoidant, but well…</p>
<p>This was all pretty overwhelming for her. She’d been certain Quentin was dead. She didn’t know how to deal with the guilt of not trusting Eliot, or with her <em>own </em>strange remnants of grief, or the white hot fury she felt at Alice and Kady and herself.</p>
<p>She just needed some air. Maybe some time.</p>
<p>She needed to breathe.</p>
<p>Quentin was alive. Quentin was alive, and Eliot had <em>told </em>her, and she hadn’t believed him. Quentin was alive, and Alice and Kady had known the whole time. Quentin was alive, and Julia and Eliot had run themselves ragged proving it and finding a way to get him back. Quentin was alive, and he was inside the building that Margo had just rushed out of because the walls felt too tight.</p>
<p>Did that about cover it? It felt like that about covered it.</p>
<p>“Margo—”</p>
<p>Right, no, it didn’t cover it, because there was Penny.</p>
<p>“It’s like I’m losing my mind,” Margo said, letting out a small laugh. She didn’t look over at Penny as he moved to stand next to her.</p>
<p>“I know the feeling,” Penny replied.</p>
<p>“I can’t believe—”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“We didn’t…”</p>
<p>“We couldn’t have known.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Margo snorted. “Does that make <em>you </em>feel any better?”</p>
<p>Penny sighed. “No, not really.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“We’ll… figure it out.”</p>
<p><em>Figure what out? </em>Margo wondered. <em>Which part? </em></p>
<p>She glanced over to look at Penny and he met her gaze with a slightly forced smile.</p>
<p>Margo wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but the dam inside of her just <em>broke, </em>and she crumpled in on herself, sobbing openly. Crying in a way she barely ever did, let alone in front of someone, let alone in public. But she couldn’t seem to stop. The tears were rushing down her cheeks and her shoulders were shaking.</p>
<p>“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Penny said softly. He put a tentative arm around her and she buried her face in his chest, too overwhelmed to be embarrassed. She’d probably be mortified later, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. “It’s gonna be okay.”</p>
<p>He rubbed her back gently as her tears soaked through his shirt. She let herself be okay with the comfort that came with it. She let herself indulge in falling apart, a little bit.</p>
<p>When she managed to get ahold of herself again, she pulled back with a shaky breath. She wiped her cheeks briskly with the back of her hand.</p>
<p>“Okay?” Penny said. He made an aborted move with his hand, like he was about to push her hair back and changed his mind.</p>
<p>“I’m good. Great.” Margo took another deep breath. It was going to be okay. She wouldn’t let it be anything else.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Julia was sitting on the floor of Quentin’s room when he finally woke up.</p>
<p>She was staring down into a book, pretty sure she’d spent the better part of an hour reading over the same paragraph and processing exactly none of the words. She just couldn’t concentrate. Which she thought was more than fair, given the circumstances.</p>
<p>When Quentin began to stir, groaning as he leaned up, Julia dropped the book and shifted over so she was sitting right by the bed.</p>
<p>“Hey, Q,” Julia said softly. “How’re you feeling?”</p>
<p>“A little like I got hit by a truck,” Quentin mumbled. He rubbed at his eyes.</p>
<p>“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Alice had told her that he’d probably have a rough couple days or so.</p>
<p>Quentin sighed, shifting so he was on his back, staring at the ceiling.</p>
<p>“What did you think was going to happen?” Julia asked quietly, a little afraid to hear the answer.</p>
<p>“What?” Quentin replied, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. From the way he tensed, she figured he knew what she was asking and was just stalling.</p>
<p>“When you did magic in the mirror world,” Julia said. “What did you <em>think </em>was going to happen?”</p>
<p>Quentin closed his eyes, letting out a long, weary sigh. He kept very still, like he thought if he didn’t move, she wouldn’t be able to see him. She recognized it—he’d been like that as a kid, too. Thinking if he faded into the background enough, he’d be left alone.  </p>
<p>“Quentin…” she said.</p>
<p>His eyelashes twitched and he opened his eyes again, keeping his gaze locked firmly to the ceiling.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” His jaw clenched. “I thought I’d die.”</p>
<p>He said it so frankly, no emotion in it at all. Julia reached for his hand and he let her take it.</p>
<p>“Quentin…” she repeated, her voice breaking a little.</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“I’m really, <em>really </em>fucking glad you’re okay,” Julia said.</p>
<p>Quentin glanced at her, his lips barely twitching into a distant smile.</p>
<p>She wanted him to say he was glad, too. He didn’t.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he said instead.</p>
<p>“No, <em>I’m </em>sorry,” Julia replied quietly. “I should’ve… I should’ve seen it. I should’ve been paying more attention.”</p>
<p>He didn’t argue with her, but he did squeeze her hand.</p>
<p>Julia took a breath. It was going to be okay. It was going to be okay, because they had time now, and she wasn’t going anywhere. They were going to be okay, and they were all going to be okay together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was putting it off.</p>
<p>After all this time, Eliot was putting off going in to see Quentin. He wanted to—honestly, he did. It was kind of all he wanted in the world right then, which was sort of the problem. How was he supposed to act? What could he say? What <em>should </em>he say?</p>
<p>In a lot of ways, Sebastian had been easier. They hadn’t had all that baggage between them, it hadn’t felt like every word was a risk. Eliot didn’t feel like he was pushed to the edge of a precipice.</p>
<p>But he also wasn’t Quentin. He wasn’t <em>real. </em></p>
<p>And now Quentin was there—just in there, in <em>that </em>room, and Eliot was standing at the door, frozen. Hopeless.</p>
<p>He couldn’t make himself knock.</p>
<p>Taking care to step softly, he headed back to the kitchen.</p>
<p>It took him another two hours of pacing and staring out the window and pulling at his own hair to finally knock on the door, impossibly lightly.</p>
<p>“Come in,” Quentin called out, and his voice made Eliot want to collapse.</p>
<p>He gingerly opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him to lean against it like he was trying to melt back through it and escape.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Quentin said. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed, staring at Eliot with wide eyes. “I thought you were Julia again.”</p>
<p>Regret stung at Eliot’s chest. He should’ve come earlier. He <em>really </em>should’ve been at Quentin’s side right away, with no hesitation. He promised himself he’d be brave, and he was completely losing his chance to be.</p>
<p>“How are you doing?” Eliot asked gently.</p>
<p>Quentin snorted. “Fine. I’m fine.”</p>
<p>“That’s good.” He was trying to keep his tone level and mild, like if he put too much emotion in it, something horrible would happen.</p>
<p>Quentin just kept looking at him steadily, unreadable, and it was getting to be too much.</p>
<p>Eliot took a breath, walking further into the room but stopping short of sitting down beside Quentin.</p>
<p>
  <em>Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t he just talk to Q? It was Q, they knew each other, they had proof of concept, he shouldn’t be afraid of that. </em>
</p>
<p>“I’m—” Eliot cut himself off, letting out a breath of hopeless laughter. “God, it’s so good to see you, Q.”</p>
<p>Quentin’s expression softened. “Yeah,” he said. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat, looking away. He brought a hand up to touch his hair. “It’s, um. Good. To see you. Also.”</p>
<p>He spoke in such a halting, awkward way, so unlike the smooth flirting of Sebastian. But also not quite like the Quentin that Eliot spent fifty years with. It was like they’d fallen back in time, and Quentin didn’t feel comfortable around him anymore.</p>
<p>The feeling made Eliot’s heart ache a little.</p>
<p>He took a hesitant step forward. He wanted nothing more than to touch Quentin. To hold him. <em>Something. </em></p>
<p>“Quentin, I—” he tried.</p>
<p>“So, uh, did I miss much? An entire Library uprising, I guess, right? Um. You probably wouldn’t, ah—wouldn’t know much about that, though. But, um—y’know, you’re not possessed anymore, so that’s, uh, something. How has… that been…?”</p>
<p>Quentin spoke fast, fidgeting as he looked down at his hands.</p>
<p>It seemed like he was afraid of something, almost.</p>
<p>“Right. Well, I… use a cane now,” Eliot said carefully.</p>
<p>Quentin half-smiled. “Hm. I guess I noticed that as Sebastian, but he was a bit preoccupied with other things, wasn’t he?”</p>
<p>He said it in such a dry, distant tone, and Eliot had <em>no idea </em>what he was supposed to make of that.</p>
<p>“About all that… How much do you remember?” Eliot asked.</p>
<p>“All of it,” Quentin said. He glanced at Eliot with a weak smile. “So are we, like, dating now, then or what?”</p>
<p>Eliot froze, staring at him.</p>
<p>Quentin rolled his eyes and sighed. “<em>Kidding. </em>I’m not gonna hold you to anything you said to <em>Sebastian</em>, don’t worry.”</p>
<p>Like that was even <em>remotely </em>what Eliot was worried about.</p>
<p>Eliot felt a little seasick. And, frankly, a little baffled. He wasn’t sure what exactly he had been expecting here—Quentin acting distant and casual was <em>certainly </em>not going to be one of his first guesses. He’d been a wreck for months, and from what he’d heard, Quentin had one hell of a year, so how was he acting like this right now?</p>
<p>Like everything was… fine?</p>
<p>Eliot tried to steel himself. “Quentin, I—”</p>
<p>“Wonder where Alice got that fake identity, y’know? Like the ones from before were from some comic book or something that Kady found, I think? I don’t know, I wasn’t—there. For that part of it, at least.” Quentin cleared his throat. “You weren’t either, I guess. Did you ever, ah, find out what your fake identity from Fogg would’ve been?”</p>
<p>“Um.” Eliot furrowed his brow, studying Quentin’s face. “No. I never thought to ask.”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>“We’ve been pretty preoccupied as of late.”</p>
<p>“Makes sense.” Quentin looked down into his hands. “Um. Sorry.”</p>
<p>“Quentin, I need to talk to you,” Eliot said, fast, before Quentin could interrupt him again.</p>
<p>Quentin actually winced a little, closing his eyes and curling in on himself.  </p>
<p>“We, um. We really don’t have to,” Quentin replied in a sort of mumbling tone.</p>
<p>That certainly gave Eliot pause.</p>
<p>He hesitated, uncertain. “What do you think this is about?” he asked slowly.</p>
<p>Quentin shot him a pained look.</p>
<p>“Everything I said to you as Sebastian, I mean… I just. I want to make it clear that I <em>did </em>hear you, y’know, <em>before. </em>And I’m sorry. I get it, I really do, that you don’t… That you don’t want, um. That. With me. And that’s fine, it’s really, really fine, so…” He took a breath, straightening his spine a little. He closed his eyes like he was bracing for something. When he looked back at Eliot again, his eyes were steady and calm. “I’m sorry. It must’ve been weird for you. You don’t… have to reject me again. We can drop it.”</p>
<p>Eliot wasn’t sure what he’d expected. <em>It wasn’t that. </em></p>
<p>“I didn’t—Q, that wasn’t—”</p>
<p>“It’s fine, really. We don’t need to—”</p>
<p>“Q, I’m…”</p>
<p>Eliot took a breath. He took another. <em>Brave. </em></p>
<p>He could be brave.</p>
<p>He closed the distance and sat down next to Quentin on the bed. Quentin’s knee was pressed against his thigh. Eliot looked at him quickly before dropping his gaze. He had to find the words first—he was sure he’d had them, before, when he was stuck in his mind. He’d known what he needed to say when it wasn’t real.</p>
<p>He had to find the words again.</p>
<p>“That’s not what I need to talk to you about,” Eliot said softly. “Well—it kind of is? But…”</p>
<p>Quentin looked down, angling himself away from Eliot.</p>
<p>“Quentin, I…” <em>Fuck, this was hard. </em></p>
<p>It had been so much easier to tell Memory Quentin. It had been so much <em>easier </em>to just promise to be brave. Eliot’s hands were shaking, and he pressed his palms against his knees.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry. For what I said that day.” An apology was a place to start at least. “I know I hurt you, and I am <em>truly </em>sorry for how I dismissed…”</p>
<p>“We don’t, um. We don’t need to do <em>this </em>either,” Quentin said. He seemed like he was shrinking, trying to disappear. He pulled his sweatshirt sleeves over his hands. “It’s fine, I’m over it.”</p>
<p>Eliot felt that like a stab between his ribs. He took another breath, steadying himself as much as he could.</p>
<p>
  <em>Brave. </em>
</p>
<p>Quentin had risked it before. He’d taken the leap of faith to put his heart on the line. He’d given Eliot a moment that <em>mattered, </em>and it had been Eliot’s fault for not taking it before. He just had to hope now that it wasn’t too late.</p>
<p>“Q, before… I was afraid. It’s not that… That I didn’t want it, too.”</p>
<p>He kept his eyes locked in front of him, not daring to look over as he felt Q turn, felt the warmth of Q’s gaze on his face.</p>
<p>“I did. I <em>do. </em>Want it, I mean.” Eliot let out a sigh, feeling like every word was excruciating. It was too bare, too honest. He wanted to run away again. “I love you, Q. I’m <em>in </em>love with you. That life we had—it was more than I ever thought possible for me, really. That’s what scared me. I didn’t want to wreck it. So instead, I pretended like it didn’t matter, but it <em>did. </em>It mattered to me.”</p>
<p>Eliot felt like the few long moments of silence that followed would never end.</p>
<p>“Wait, I—” Quentin’s voice was small, hesitant. “Wait. I don’t… I don’t understand.”</p>
<p>Eliot managed to make himself meet Quentin’s eyes. Quentin’s brow was furrowed and he was staring like he was afraid to blink.</p>
<p>“What are you saying?” Quentin asked carefully.</p>
<p>Eliot forced a small smile. <em>Brave. </em></p>
<p>“I’m saying… What if we gave it a shot?” he said, soft and hopeful. “Us, I mean.”</p>
<p>“Us,” Quentin echoed.</p>
<p>“I love you, Q,” Eliot said. The words were a little easier this time. “And I am asking for a second chance.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Quentin kept staring. When the shock faded from his face, he shook his head. “Are you <em>kidding </em>me?”</p>
<p>“Um.”</p>
<p>“After <em>all this—” </em></p>
<p>“Oh—I… Does that mean you don’t—”</p>
<p>“<em>No, </em>it doesn’t mean I—” Quentin let out a half-frantic laugh, running a hand over his hair. “I mean, I do—still. I still…”</p>
<p>He froze again, eyes widening like he was having a realization.</p>
<p>Before Eliot could ask, Quentin had leaned forward and kissed him, a hand pressing against Eliot’s heart.</p>
<p>It took a moment for Eliot’s mind to catch up—he was pretty sure he had a full out of body experience in the moment Quentin’s lips touched his. But once he’d connected, he was kissing Quentin back, desperately, bringing a hand up to cup the side of Quentin’s neck, his other hand grasping at Quentin’s waist.</p>
<p>Eliot felt like his heart was climbing up his throat. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes—he wasn’t sure he’d realized, truly, just how much he’d <em>missed </em>Quentin.</p>
<p>
  <em>I love you, I’ve loved you, I’ll always love you. </em>
</p>
<p>He was sure there was more to say. But it was going to be okay.</p>
<p>They had time now.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading! You can find me on Tumblr @official-mermaid, if you like</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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